


Abandoned WIPs

by Hazel_Athena



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: AUs, Canon Era, Ensemble Cast, Gen, M/M, Modern Era, wips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: A collection of WIPs that I’ve had to acknowledge will never be finished, but figured I’d share regardless.Completion levels vary widely from chapter to chapter.
Relationships: Joshua Faraday/Vasquez
Comments: 21
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few snippets from a one-shot that was supposed to involve cranky, convalescing Faraday. Can’t really remember where I was going with this one originally.

It’s not the pain itself that Faraday hates, though that’s almost too much for him to bear on some days. Especially with the way it seems to deep into his bones, like a liquid fire that storms through his body in a way he can’t prevent. That’s hard enough, but what really gets him is the feeling of weakness that comes along with it.

Faraday’s long been a loner, albeit by circumstance rather than by nature. He’d been too young to remember his old man when he took off, and honestly not that much older when sickness had claimed his Ma. Lacking any siblings or other family, he’d been forced to get by on nothing but his wits initially, and then with the physical strength of his body once he’d grown.

He still has his wits, thankfully, but the fight for Rose Creek has come with a terrible price. He knows he’s lucky to be alive, knows he should be grateful to still possess all the parts he’d come into the world with, even if they don’t quite work to specs anymore, but on the days when his bad leg screams at him the moment he tries to put any way on it, or his fingers twinge when he tries to wrap them around Jack’s reins or one of his guns, well, then it’s not so easy to be grateful.

Nor is it easy when he sees the rest of his crew heal so quickly in comparison. Yes, most of them had taken their own hits, several of them serious, but no one is as worked over as he is, and he suspects it’d take a better man than him to not be at least a little envious of that.

He’s at his worst, he knows, any time his body fails him when there are witnesses around. He hates every moment where the others sees him trip over something that isn’t there or fumble the playing cards that he used to be able to move like an extension of himself or have to call a halt to their riding because he can’t go one more blessed second in the saddle. Each and every instance makes him feel like less than he once was, like a shadow of his former self.

Worst of all is the looks of pity the others think they hide so well. He sees on their faces, usually as the glance furtively back and forth, like they don’t know he can see them doing it. Sometimes he even sees one or two of them quietly murmuring together after a bad spell, and he just knows they’re discussing the issue.

He always does he best to skedaddle at such times, provided the opportunity prevents itself. That’s why tonight he’s hobbled up the stairs to his room in the boarding house, while his six companions are clustered over at the saloon, unaware that he’s hiding away where they can’t see him ache.

Or so he thinks. He’s just settled onto the bed with his bad leg stretched out in front of him when his door is unceremoniously shoved open, and Vasquez comes in uninvited.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Faraday demands. His voice sounds sharp to his own ears, but he’s not in the mood for company, and Vasquez, more than any of the others, is obnoxiously good at reading him. 

“Checking on you,” is the curt reply. Vasquez has long since stopped trying to cajole Faraday into admitting he’s having trouble during times like these. Nowadays he tends to go straight to the heart of the problem, no doubt figuring it’s the quickest route. “You were limping earlier, and you didn’t want to come play cards.”

“I’m tired,” Faraday grunts. “What’s it to you?”

“You are never too tired for gambling, guero,” Vasquez scoffs. “Too sore, yes. Too tired, no. It’s you’re leg again, isn’t it?”

“I’m fine,” Faraday grits out, backing up his words with one of his nastier glares. It works about as well as he expects it to, meaning not at all. “Hell’s sake, Vas. Shove off, would you? I want to sleep, and I can’t do that with you hovering over me like a worried grandmother.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few bits from an AU where members of the seven are offered land instead of money for helping in Rose Creek and Vasquez accepts. This one was largely outlined and involved what I’ll call the “and they were roommates!” scenario.

Some days later, Vasquez wanders into Faraday’s sickroom for one of his usual visits, only this time he’s fit to bursting with excitement. He practically bounces in place in the seat that’s become his more than anybody else’s, jiggling his knee like he does when he’s full up of excess energy.

“What in the world’s gotten into you?” Faraday asks finally, feeling exhausted just from looking at him. He lies back against his pillows, waiting for Vasquez to spill whatever beans there are that have him hopping. “Y’look like a kid at Christmas time.”

Vasquez laughs, the sound echoing loud and bright as it practically bounces off the walls once he’s set it free. “Not quite that good, guero,” he assures, his expression that of a man who can’t believe his luck, “but close. Definitely close.”

Annoyed that he’s being kept out of the loop, Faraday shuffles into an upright position as best as he’s able, and jabs the only part of Vasquez he can reach - which happens to be his right knee - with a finger. “Quit building up the suspense, jackass. What’s going on?”

Pulling his leg back out of reach, Vasquez holds up his hands as if to ward off further attacks, that same beaming grin still stretching his mouth from ear to ear. “They’ve offered me a house,” he says, his tone suggesting that he can’t yet believe it. “A house, and the land that comes with it. Mine to have instead of cash if I want to stay.”

Faraday blinks, honestly surprised at this news. “Huh,” he says. It’s the first thing that comes to mind while he tries to process what he’s hearing, but he regrets it when Vasquez’s smile dims slightly at his mediocre response. 

“I mean,” he rushes to say, “that’s fantastic for you, Vas. I’m happy you’re getting something you want. I just didn’t realize it was. Something you want, I mean. You sure you want to tie yourself to one spot like this?”

“Well this calls for celebration then,” Faraday says once he’s found his voice again. “Go swipe is a bottle of booze, and we’ll drink to your good fortune.”

Grinning, Vasquez dutifully reaches into his vest pocket it, and pulls out a flask that sloshes when he shakes it. “I was thinking you might say something like that, so I came prepared.”

Laughing, Faraday graciously accepts the first sip.

*****

One thing Faraday hasn’t considered upon receipt of Vasquez’s news is the effect the man becoming a home-owner would have on him personally. Up until now, Vasquez has spent odd hours helping set the town to rights, but had always wandered back to Faraday throughout the day. Now, however, he’s busy putting together a place to call his own, which eats up a lot more of his time.

Faraday tries not to feel bitter about this, but the fact remains that he’s still trapped in a bed not his own, while his best source of companionship has up and left him for all intents and purposes. Never mind that he’s trying to be less of a selfish asshole in the wake of surviving something had no right to, he imagines he’d be hard pressed to find someone who wasn’t at least a little despondent in the wake of such happenings.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touch starved Vasquez. Forever my kryptonite.

The first person to touch him after the warrant is placed on his head is actually Sam Chisolm. The bounty hunter gives him a friendly slap on the back, and proceeds to use the same hand to drag him away from where Faraday’s still drunkenly mocking his heritage. Sam doesn’t think anything of it, that much is obvious, but Vasquez is left wrong-footed and breathless, almost going weak at the knees at the feeling of physical contact.

It’s been months, is the thing. He’s barely spoken to another soul since the warrant came out, too afraid of being recognized and then sent to the noose simply because he’s worth a fortune in most men’s eyes. It’s left him desperate in more ways than one, almost to the point where he’d risk losing his neck for something as mundane as a handshake.

Unfortunately, no further touches seem to be forthcoming once they fill out their party. His companions talk to him, sure enough, and provide him with a semblance of safety while travelling, but in some ways that almost makes it worse. He’s always been social, always been tactile, and he wants, oh god how he wants.

What’s worse is none of the others are missing out. Billy and Goodnight touch all the time, sitting shoulder to shoulder and leaning into each other as they talk. Goodnight and Sam do the same, albeit without as much intimacy. Sam and Jack trade handshakes and back pats, gesturing at each other as they tell stories from the brief time they worked together. Emma and Teddy keep more to themselves, but even then he’ll lay a comforting hand on her arm every now and again, or she’ll lean into him when he gets agitated. Then of course there’s Faraday, who moves in and out of the group with ease, nudging and poking and all other manner of gestures that irritate their recipients, but only serve to send Vasquez wishing he was on their receiving end.

Of the nine of them, just Vasquez and Red are left without regular physical contact of some form or other, and Red hardly counts since he seems to want nothing of the sort. Vasquez can’t help but envy him for that.

The second person to touch him after the warrant is Faraday, but it’s inadvertent and poorly timed, so Vasquez isn’t really able to count it. It’s when they’re in the middle of the first firefight for Rose Creek, shooting down enemies not far from each other, and winding up back to back in the middle of the street. Vasquez allows himself the briefest of moments to lean into it, he can’t not, but then they tear apart, each of them going in search of their next target.

The third time is again Faraday; joking in the middle of the saloon as he puts on a show that sends not only Vasquez, but Goodnight, Billy, and Jack howling with laughter at his antics. He nudged Vasquez roughly in the shoulder, almost sending him toppling out of his seat thanks to the amount of alcohol he’s consumed, and then decides to introduce everyone to his guns while Vasquez is still reeling.

*****

His skin feels like it’s on fire, burning up in the most perfect way at every point of contact between himself and Faraday. He makes a sound that’s practically animalistic before he can prevent it from escaping, and Faraday pulls back with a confused look on his face.

“What-?” He starts to say, but Vasquez cuts him off with a desperate, messy kiss. He can’t get into this, is the thing, can’t sit here and explain his problem because the odds are good he’ll scare Faraday off. He needs to distract him enough that he’ll continue touching him unimpeded.

Unfortunately, Faraday truly is more aware than most people give him credit for. He allows Vasquez to continue his onslaught for several moments, just long enough for him to think his plan has worked, and then the damnable Irish bastard is getting his hands on Vasquez’s shoulders, pushing him back far enough until they can look at each other eye to eye.

Vasquez groans. The contact Faraday’s giving him is now considerably lessened, and it has him worried he’s about to lose it altogether. “What is it?” He pants, reaching up to wrap his own hands around Faraday’s wrists, trying to ground himself. “What’s wrong?”

Faraday’s eyes narrow as he stares down at Vasquez’s hands with a disconcertingly shrewd expression. “I got a feeling it’s me who should be asking you that one, muchacho,” he says slowly. “The hell’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” Vasquez is quick to lie. “Unless you count the fact that I thought we were going somewhere with this, and you appear to be stopping.”

“I ain’t stopping,” Faraday denies, “but I am putting a hold on things until you quit lying to me. Now, I know I’m one hell of a specimen, but I’ve never made someone sound like that with just a couple touches. What is it?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Vasquez shakes his head, and leans forward to plaster himself against Faraday. He knows this isn’t helping, knows it will only serve to make the gambler more likely to back away, but he can’t help himself. If he’s going to lose this so soon after he’s gotten it, then he’s going to steal whatever he can first.

“Whoa whoa,” Faraday yelps, but rather than push him off like Vasquez is expecting, he wraps his arms around his back, holding him steady as he burrows in. “Jesus, Vas! Okay, it’s okay. I don’t know what the fuck’s happening, but I got you, alright? I’m right here.”

He sounds decidedly unFaraday-like as he talks. His usual sharp words seem to have disappeared only to be replaced by genuine, if somewhat blustery concern. “Just breathe, yeah?” He suggests, one of his hands coming up to run through Vasquez’s hair, while the other presses him in tight. “We’ll get you sorted.”

Vasquez laughs raggedly at that, the noise slightly muffled by the worn linen of Faraday’s shirt. “I’m not sure anything can help me, guero,” he pants. “Maybe I have lost my mind, yes?”

“No,” Faraday disagrees. It’s as if their usual positions are reversed, and he’s suddenly the more serious of them. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re not crazy. You need to calm down, though. C’mon and relax for me.”

“Don’t think I can,” Vasquez hisses. Fisting his hands in Faraday’s shirt, he groans as he tries to force his body to stop shaking through sheer force of will. “I’m sorry, Joshua. This is - whatever it may be, you should not have to deal with it.”

“Shut up,” Faraday replies, albeit in a voice more kind than anything Vasquez has ever heard from him. “I ain’t going anywhere, so stop talking such foolishness and listen to me. Try matching your breathing to mine.”

Vasquez snorts derisively at the suggestion, making his opinion of it plain. Faraday, however, is not to be dissuaded, and he hooks his thumb and forefinger under Vasquez’s chin, forcing his head up to look at him.

“Please,” he says simply, and Vasquez feels himself fold at the use of a single word. Slumping back down, he nods weakly, and leans against Faraday’s chest, willing himself to imitate the slow, steady breaths the other man is taking.

It helps, at least after a fashion. Vasquez suspects that the hand Faraday’s now running in gentle circles over his back is also easing the strain, and he tells himself to return the favour by doing what’s asked of him.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he starts to settle. His breath stops coming in the short, sharp pants that have consumed him, and he sighs into Faraday’s shoulder as a sense of calm starts to creep over him.

With that calm comes shame, however. The rough sting of embarrassment licks its way up his spine as the full realization of what’s just happened crashes over him. He’s always secretly thought of himself as weak in the darkest recesses of his mind, but he never thought he’d have it proven quite so thoroughly.

Mortified, he starts to pull away, only to unexpectedly find that he can’t. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Faraday says in response to his inquiring noise. He tucks Vasquez’s head under his chin, holding him tight in an embrace. “You’re staying right where you are for now. Leastways until I’m satisfied you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Vasquez insists, to hell with any and all evidence to the contrary. He knows full well he’s just destroyed any chance he had of getting this thing between them off the ground, so now all he wants to do is flee to the nearest hiding place.

Faraday, however, apparently has other ideas. Tightening his grip when Vasquez shifts, a deep, guttural noise emanates from the depths of his chest, making it clear that he’s not letting go without a fight. “I said stay.” 

Unable to resist, Vasquez does as he’s told. Sagging back into Faraday’s arms, he decides to take what’s on offer while it’s available, and does his best not to dwell on how pathetic he feels.

“That’s better,” Faraday says, as if he can sense the fight draining out of Vasquez. He scratches lightly at his scalp with the hand that’s been stroking his hair, making a gentle shushing sound when Vasquez groans at the touch. “Easy now. Just try and relax.”

Vasquez laughs bitterly at that, as if there’s any way he could possibly accede to such a command. Burdened by a sudden onset of shame thanks to his behaviour, there will be no relaxing for him at this point - or possibly any point, for that matter.

They stay this way for some time, with Faraday’s hands roaming around with gentle caresses, while Vasquez is torn between being grateful and mortified by turns. He’s never wanted anyone to see him like this, least of all Faraday, and he doubts he’ll ever be able to look back on this night with anything other than horror.

“I need to go,” he says finally. Forcing himself to sit up in Faraday’s hold, he shuffles backwards, fully intending to free himself so he can slink off to find a place where he can hide and lick his wounds in private. “This - I should go.”

Faraday gives him a dark look, and gets three fingers under his chin, tilting his head up so that he’s got no choice but to make eye contact. “What you should do,” he says firmly, “is tell me what the fuck’s wrong. I’ve taken many a person to bed before, and I ain’t never gotten a reaction like that from just a little heavy petting.”

“Then you should consider yourself flattered, and leave me be,” Vasquez grits out. “I don’t want to talk about it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only scenario you’ll ever see me write where everyone doesn’t survive. Vasquez does in a freak accident not long after Rose Creek and meets everyone again in the afterlife. I write the ending first and never got much further.

The twin sounds of laugher and high-pitched childish shrieks ring out simultaneously, stopping Vasquez in his tracks. "Oh," he says, now seeing the cabin in a new light. He looks over at Jack and finds the man watching him with a small smile on his face. "You went home."

"I did," Jack agrees. "By whatever grace saw fit to work in my favour, I did." He nods towards the house, a large hand landing between Vasquez's shoulder blades and spurring him into motion again. "Come on, now. I'd like you to meet them."

Vasquez isn't sure he likes that idea, but Jack is obviously not taking no for an answer, his hand doesn't move, and he uses it to steer Vasquez over to the cabin and up the few short steps leading to the door.

*****

"Didn't expect to see you here so soon."

Vasquez supposes he should have been expecting that voice. It's owner is the one person missing from the path this little journey seems to have taken him on, and the locale, a rundown solution smelling of liquor and hazy with cigar smoke is all too fitting. Yet surprised he is.

He stares straight ahead at the card table three of the four players have just vacated, his eyes boring into the man who's failed to rise, the man who'd spoken to him so familiarly despite the fact that he's sitting with his back to Vasquez and he can't possibly have seen him come in.

Vasquez continues to say nothing, and as he watches broad shoulders rise and fall in a heaving sigh. Slowly, the man's body rotates to face him, and green eyes roll with unconcealed exasperation when Vasquez still doesn't move.

"Well, come on then," Faraday grumbles. He gestures at the table behind him where the former players' cards are lying scattered about the pockmarked wood. "Seeing as you've scared off all my company, the least you can do is join in. I'll deal."

"You cheat when you deal," Vasquez mutters, blurting out the first words that come to mind following the offer.

If Faraday's offended, he doesn't show it. Instead, he snorts and waves a hand at the table again as he gathers up the cards. "So get over here and make sure I don't do that," he suggests. "I'm bored and you just spooked what little fun there is in this place. You owe me."

Not sure he deserves to be blamed for Faraday's game being abandoned when all he'd done was walk casually into the saloon, Vasquez finds himself stepping forward regardless. Eying the other patrons for a moment to see if they'll try and stop him, he determines none of them are currently a threat and pads over to the table.

Dropping into the seat straight across from Faraday, he watches the other man cut and shuffle the deck, the cards flashing through his fingers with the same speed they had while he was alive. "You haven't lost your touch."

"Seems that way, yep," Faraday replies. He's speaking around a lot cigarette he has clamped between his teeth, his attention more focused on making the cards dance from hand to hand than anything else. "You surprised?"

"Today has surprised me with many things, guero," Vasquez says honestly, "but that isn't one of them."

Faraday grins at him around the cigarette, that same wild light in his eyes that had fuelled him in life as obvious now in death. "Wanna know what surprised me the most about this place?"

"Finding yourself here at all?" Vasquez drawls, and Faraday laughs hard enough that he has to take the cigarette out of his mouth or risk losing it.

"Nah," he says, stubbing it out in a conveniently placed ashtray resting by his elbow. "I might've committed the odd sin or two during my time, but none so bad as to keep the man upstairs from letting me in, I don't think. No," he adds before Vasquez can point out a few particular details he'd learned from Faraday prior to his death, "it was winding up here in one piece. I know how close I was to that gat when it blew, can't imagine there was much left of me after that."

"No," Vasquez says softly, his mind drifting to the sight he'd come upon when he'd gone to investigate after the battle. He can't quite prevent himself from shuddering. "There was not."

Faraday's face, unmarked by any of the events that had ended his life, softens briefly. He says nothing, but Vasquez chooses to take his expression as a silent apology.

"Anyway," Faraday says after the silence has stretched on long enough. "That was my biggest surprise about the afterlife, closely followed now by you ending up here so damned soon. What happened?"

Vasquez shrugs, not wanting to get into it. "An accident," he says gruffly. "Hardly the glamorous death you managed to achieve. I can only hope not too many people learn the truth."

Faraday raises an eyebrow, but rather than comment further he begins dealing the cards out. "What're you going to do now?"

Sparing a glance at his cards, Vasquez isn't surprised when they turn out to be complete crap. He has no idea how, but he's positive that's Faraday's doing.

"I don't know," he says when he feels a boot prod at his shin under the table. "I ran into each of the others before I found you," he admits. "They seem much too ... settled for my tastes."

He thinks of Horne with his family, Goodnight and Billy with their camp, and Matthew Cullen quietly waiting away in his little farmhouse. They all seemed content with what they've found here, but Vasquez just feels restless.

"I cannot explain it," he says then. "Maybe I have no choice but to keep moving. At least for now."

He half expects Faraday to scoff or roll his eyes or something of that nature, but the man surprises him with a thoughtful nod. "You're not ready to settle down. I know that feeling. The whole time I've been here, I've been restless."

"I've seen the others too," he adds, making a face Vasquez can't parse. "We're all able to move around and sometimes I go visit 'em, but you're right. They're all content to stay as they are, but me, I'd rather keep roaming."

"So why haven't you?" Vasquez asks. There's a voice in the back of his heading telling him he's maybe pushing a little too much - he and Faraday had only known each other a couple of weeks in life, after all - but he squashed it down. There's an echo of his own feelings in Faraday's words, and he wants to know where they might lead.

Faraday taps his cards against the table, taking his time in deciding how he wants to answer. "Because while there's still plenty I want to see, I don't want to do it alone anymore. I got a taste of travelling in company before I died, and I want that back."

"Hmm," Vasquez murmurs. "Then where would you go? And how would you get there?"

Faraday grins. "Anywhere I want. That's the beauty of this place. As for how I'd get there," a funny look crosses his face and he pushes away from the table. "Let me show you something."

Figuring he's got nothing better to do, Vasquez drops his cards and follows.

Faraday leads him out of the saloon, and then down and around the street until they arrive at what appears to be the local stables. There's no one around, no yard-hands or anyone, but what there are are two sturdy looking horses, fully tacked and loaded with bulging saddlebags.

"They've been here the whole time I have," Faraday says, leaning over the rails of the fence and holding a hand out for one of the horses to sniff. "Nobody touches 'em or moves 'em or anything. It's like they're waiting for someone in particular. Or maybe two someones."

"Guero," Vasquez grunts, "are you seriously suggesting that an act of theft should be one of the first things I do with my afterlife?"

"Who says it's theft?" Faraday asks, stroking the nose of the nearer horse as she shoves her face into his shoulder. "They've been sitting around bored just as long as I have. It's probably a sign."

"Possibly," Vasquez allows, and as if to deliberately test his resolve, the second horse approaches and gives him a knowing stare. "Alright, probably, but what would we even do?"

"That's the beauty of it," Faraday says. His grin is sharp and contains within it a hint of promise that makes Vasquez's gut twist in a way nothing else in this place has. That same promise had been lurking in its edges in Rose Creek, but Vasquez hadn't had the nerve to push that time. "I haven't the faintest idea."

Vasquez blinks, jerked out of his reverie by this declaration. "You seem pleased by that notion."

"I sure as shit am," Faraday agrees. "Aren't you?"

Vasquez considers this, and honesty forces him to admit that there's a fission of excitement churning low in his stomach. He'd always wanted to roam, to seek out new things and find adventure. That desire had caused him to leave the safety of his parents home back in Mexico far earlier than he should have, but he'd never regretted the decision and the urge had never gone away.

He looks at Faraday, decision made, and sees his own wanderlust mirrored back at him. "Okay, guero," he says, "you win."

"Knew I would." With a wink, Faraday walks over to the gate in the enclosure and shoves it open, giving the horses enough space to step out free. "C'mon, Vas. We're wasting daylight."

Shaking his head, Vasquez laughs and follows.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU that got close to completion, but I fell out of love with because something always felt off with the characterization.

"Red's bringing his new coworker to drinks this Friday."

"Hmm?" His attention mainly on the pot of sauce he's stirring in front of him, Vasquez is slow to respond to Emma's declaration. "Sorry, what was that?"

There's a sigh on the other end of the line, one not at all muffled by the way Vasquez has the phone shoved into the crook between neck and shoulder so he can still cook while he talks. He can practically picture Emma rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"I *said*," she states firmly, "that Red is bringing his new mechanic buddy out with us on Friday. His new mechanic buddy who is apparently both hot and single. No word on his type yet, but there is confirmation he's into guys."

Now it's Vasquez's turn to sigh. "Emma," he groans. "What have I told you about playing matchmaker for me?"

"Who's playing matchmaker?" She demands. Vasquez doesn't have the heart to tell her that her voice goes really pitchy when she lies. "The guy moved to town a few weeks ago, and he knows no one outside of work. Red's being nice and introducing him to us."

"While scamming his romantic preferences out of him at the same time, no doubt," Vasquez mutters. He stirs his sauce with a little more force than necessary as he tries to quell his rising frustration. "None of you is subtle."

"Alejandro, you're a good looking, friendly guy, with an impressive education and a career based on helping people. In short, you're quite the catch." Vasquez pointedly doesn't say thank you to these compliments because he knows she's just setting him up for a fall.

"However," Emma continues, immediately proving him right, "you're also turning thirty in a couple months, and you're basically a shut in who spends more time with his cat than real people. Except, of course, when you're fifth wheeling with Red, Teddy, Matthew, and I."

Vasquez pointedly doesn't respond to that and just as pointedly doesn't glance over at where he'd last seen Sachi contentedly snoozing on her favourite perch. So what if he spoils and confides in the little beast on occasion, wasn't that the whole point of having pets?

No one seems to be of a mind to answer his unasked question, and since he doesn't actually feel like pushing the matter, he instead concentrates on the food he's preparing. He's already eaten tonight, but with the way his schedule has been of late he's taken to preparing bulk meals in advance in order to ensure he's not slapping together whatever he can find after a long day spent at the community centre. 

Finally Emma grows tired of the silence. He hears her grumble something low under her breath, and he knows without asking that she's gearing up to speak again. "I'm not saying you have to date this guy. I'm not saying you should even try, but I will note it's been ages since your last relationship, and even the odd night out with someone outside of the usual crew has been few and far between. Meeting someone new might be good for you."

"I'm busy," he says mulishly, the same way he always does when she gets on his case about this. He knows that deep down she means well, but Andrew was a year ago, Eric two years before that, and before that, well. Emma didn't know him before that, but she's learned not to push where his old life is concerned.

Unfortunately, she has no qualms against pushing for the new one. "You're coming out on Friday," she instructs. "It's not a set up or a blind date or anything similar, but you will be there. Is that clear?"

"Sí, sí, claro," he grumbles. "Now go away. If I ruin this sauce everything I eat for the next week will taste wrong, and I will be very grumpy. I will talk to you later."

"Yes, you will," she says, and he can't help but be impressed with the way she makes that sound like a threat.

*****

Friday rolls around sooner than he's expecting, and for the first time in a long time Vasquez finds himself unsure of what to wear for a night out with his friends. As determined as he is not to fall into Emma's little matchmaker trap, he also doesn't want to meet some stranger looking like a slob, which is why he's pulled multiple shirts out of his closet while Sachi judges him from where she's curled up on the bed.

"I don't know why you're looking at me like that," he says as he finally settles on a pair of dark jeans and a long sleeved burgundy sweater in deference to the fact that it's not yet warm enough for shirt sleeves. "You're a cat. You don't know anything about this sort of thing."

Sachi doesn't answer, and Vasquez leaves his apartment aware of the fact that Emma's right and he spends far too much time talking to his damn cat. 

He's a little later than usual arriving, no doubt thanks to his wardrobe mini-crisis, and the parking lot of their favourite bar is more full than usual as he pulls up. On the other hand, he spots Emma and Matthew climbing out of their car only a few spots down, so he's hardly the last one here.

Not even close as it happens. As he falls into step beside them, Matthew mentions that Teddy got caught up at work and it's going to be at least another hour before he can get here. "So you're not the only one who gets so bogged down he forgets to look at a clock," he adds with a grin as he pulls the bar door open and motions Emma and Vasquez on ahead of him, ever the gentleman.

"It was one time, maybe two," Vasquez complains, conveniently forgetting that it's considerably more times than he can count. Sue him, he's a busy man. "Like you've never been late for anything in your life."

"Sadly, he's almost obnoxiously punctual," Emma pronounces from where she's walking slightly in front of them. "Now hush up. Red and his new pal should already be here, and I want to get a good look."

"You are absolutely shameless," Matthew informs her, but any sting his words might hold is softened by the gentle look on his face. "What's this guy's name again?"

"I keep forgetting," Emma admits. Twisting sideways she pushes through two men who aren't getting out of her way fast enough and then waits impatiently for Vasquez and Matthew to catch up with their much larger frames before once again beelining for their regular table with the two of them right on her heels. Vasquez can now see Red and a large, muscular man in the distance. "It starts with a J, I know that much. Jake? John?"

"Josh." The name spills from Vasquez's lips without conscious permission, and familiar green eyes snap up to look at him as he draws near the table. "Maldita."

His face going pale, Joshua Faraday sits up straight so fast he almost sends the beer bottle resting in front of him flying. "Ale," he says, obviously shocked. "Shit. I - shit."

"What're you doing here?" Vasquez demands, his question coming out in tandem with Red's surprised sounding, "You two know each other?"

"We used to date," Josh says awkwardly, and Vasquez bites back a sudden urge to laugh because the sound would no doubt come out vaguely hysterical.

'Dating' was hardly a fair description of what they'd done together. For a long time Vasquez had thought Josh was it for him, that they'd each found their match in the other, and that wouldn't change. 

Unfortunately, he'd turned out to be wrong, and things had ended ... poorly, with him calling them off because they just hadn't been on the same page. Vasquez had been driven, idealistic, determined to finish his schooling and make something of himself. Whereas Josh had preferred to fuck around and remain in the rut he'd carved out for himself.

That wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for that fact that Josh's lack of caring had eventually segued over to Vasquez too. He'd stopped wanting to go out, and showed little interest in spending time together. It'd seemed to Vasquez like he'd just been there, hovering around Josh's periphery, but utterly uninteresting where the other man was concerned.

Eventually it'd become too much, and Vasquez had flat out said something needed to change. He hadn't thought he was asking for much, just for Josh to pay attention to him every now and again, instead of leaving him feeling taken for granted.

Josh had seemed to understand at the time, had made noises about doing better and making an effort to fix the holes in their relationship, and Vasquez had convinced himself that meant they were getting somewhere. Then they'd made plans for their upcoming anniversary, figuring that was as good a time as any to really revamp things, only to have Josh completely ghost him in favour of hanging out with some of his poker buddies.

Vasquez had called things off right then and there, leading to the mother of all shouting matches wherein he'd left their apartment and refused to go back. He'd finished out the last few weeks of his university degree bunking on a friend's couch, and then moved for work as soon as he could. From there he'd met Emma, been forcibly dragged into her social circle, and the rest was history.

History that is, that's now staring him in the face looking like it's waiting for a response.

When Vasquez can't give him one, Josh makes to shove away from the table, never mind that it's still early and there's a half finished beer sitting in front of him. "I should go," he says. "Sorry."

"No," Vasquez blurts out, guilt pooling heavy in his stomach at the way Josh looks genuinely upset. It's been almost five years, there's no reason they can't be in the same place at this point.

"You don't have to leave, I was just surprised to see you, is all," he rushes to say, gesturing at the table until Josh slowly reclaims his seat. "When did you move?"

"Couple of months ago," Josh replies. "I managed to snag a job at the same garage as Red here after getting the last of my mechanic certificates. Figured it was time for a change of scenery, so here I am."

"So here you are," Vasquez repeats. "Congratulations on finishing the mechanic training. I always knew you could."

Josh flashes him a brittle smile, like he's not sure if Vasquez is being condescending or not, and an awkward silence settles over the table.

"Well," Emma is unsurprisingly the first person brace enough to try and restart conversation. "This is certainly an unexpected turn of events. Josh, is there any chance you can give us dirt on what Vasquez was like before he showed up in town years ago."

"Um," Josh says awkwardly, and Matthew, bless him, dives in to save the day.

"I think we can hold that for another time," he says, giving his wife a look that would have cut anyone else off at the knees. "Red, Teddy was telling me you've been doing work on your place. What's the project?"

As Red begins explaining the installation he's envisioning for his and Teddy's apartment, Vasquez sits back with a sigh of relief. He knows it won't be enough to stem the questions forever, but right now he'll take what he can get.

*****

They split up for the night earlier than usual, probably because the awkward pall being case by Vasquez and Josh's mutual silences are starting to wear on people.

Vasquez is the last one to leave the table, stalling under the guise of wanting to speak to their waitress about his bill. In actuality, he figures that if he lets everyone else clear out ahead of him, he can safely escape without having to talk to anyone about what's happened.

Unfortunately, he turns out to have no such luck. When he exits the pub he finds Josh waiting for him, his shoulders hunched against the unseasonal chill in the air as he aggressively smokes a cigarette.

"Those things are terribly unhealthy for you," Vasquez says weakly. Josh is standing between him and the parking lot, meaning he's got no choice to say something if he wants to get by.

Josh raises an eyebrow at him, and slowly drags the cigarette from his mouth, dropping it on the ground and stubbing it out even though it's only half gone. "I take it you quit?" He asks.

"Yes, about four years ago now," Vasquez replies, conveniently ignoring the fact that he has a tendency to light up again during periods of heavy stress. He hopes he doesn't find himself giving into the urge thanks to ... whatever this is.

"Your friends seem nice," Josh says now. Vasquez gets the feeling it's not the topic he'd prefer to be on, but also that he's playing it safe for the moment. "They didn't have to invite me along tonight."

"Red invited you," Vasquez says lamely. "He's generally considered a good judge of character.

Josh snorts at this, but doesn't rise to the inadvertent bait. "I was hoping we could talk," he says instead, making Vasquez groan internally at the confirmation that he's not getting out of here tonight without having to discuss feelings. “If you've got a minute, that is."

Vasquez squirms. He technically has many minutes, he just doesn't want to give them up for this. "Josh, its late. I'm tired. I'm sure whatever it is you want to say can wait a little longer, and -"

"You broke my heart, you know?" With his words cutting Vasquez's ramblings off perhaps more effectively than anything else ever has before, Josh's voice is soft as he speaks, quiet, but at the same time surprisingly not confrontational. When Vasquez looks at him, he finds green eyes staring back him, maybe a little sad, but definitely not accusatory.

"I didn't want to," he starts to say, but Josh holds up a hand to stop him.

"It's okay," he says. "No, really, it is. See, I've had a long time to think about it, and I've realized that, no matter how much you ending things might've sucked ass, I can't blame you for what you did."

"You broke my heart," he repeats, "but I broke yours first. I'm sorry, Ale," he continues on while Vasquez sucks in a heavy breath. "I was - fuck, you deserved so much better than me. I treated you like shit. I screwed around, and I took you for granted. Honestly, looking back on it I'm amazed you stuck around as long as you did."

Vasquez swallows. "I was happy. Up until almost the very end, I was happy."

Josh's expression goes unreadable, which is disconcerting. There was once a time where Vasquez could read him like a book. Even when they'd been at their worst, he'd always known what was going on inside the other man's head.

He tries to think of something else to say, only to come up blank. Josh, however, has no such issue. His face still implacable, he squares his shoulders as he says, "It's that almost that's the problem. If I'd done it like I should have, you'd have stayed happy."

"Some things aren't meant to be, I guess," Vasquez hears himself say, and the corners of Josh's mouth turn up in a weak smile. 

"That's true," he agrees, "but as excuses go it's shit awful. I owe you an apology, so just know that I'm sorry, and also that I'll keep out of your hair now I'm in town. You won't have to worry about me crashing plans with your buddies again."

Because he's still reeling from everything else Josh has thrown at him, it takes Vasquez a minute to process this last line. When he does, he shakes his head furiously, determined not to let Josh martyr himself this way. "Don't be foolish, guero," he says, the nickname slipping out with the ease of familiarity.

"Tonight was fine," he carries on. "Good even. It was nice to see you. I'm glad things are going well for you, and I see no reason why we can't be around each other after all this time. We were friends before we were anything else."

"Yeah, we were," Josh admits. Then, like he's revealing something crazy. "Truth be told, I think I missed having that most of all after we were done. You always understood my tics better than most."

"Likewise," Vasquez tells him, his stomach swooping in light of everything he's learned this evening. "So, what do you say then? Friends?" Greatly daring, he stretches out his arm, offering Josh his hand to shake.

Josh eyes him for a second before grinning ruefully and reaching up grasp the proffered hand. "Friends," he says decisively. "So I guess that means I'll see you next week?"

"If not sooner," Vasquez assures him. "Sometimes we all get together on the weekend. I'm sure you'll be welcome to join if we do."

"Might just take you up in that if it happens," Josh says, shifting to adjust the way his jacket is settled over his broad shoulders. "However, winter is only sort of over, and it's getting fuckin' cold now, so I should take off. I'll see you later."

"Yes," Vasquez says, raising a hand in a small farewell wave as Josh makes his way down the steps. "See you."

Like an idiot, he watches Josh until he's out of sight, though if pressed he'd have difficulty providing a reason as to why. Then, doing his best to tell himself nothing unusual is happening, he takes the steps two at a time and heads in the direction of his own car.

Sachi looks up at he comes into the apartment a little while later, her gaze as coolly disinterested as most cats if not more so. It's almost as if she can tell something dramatic has happened, and is already preparing to judge his resulting choices.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" He asks, perturbed by the weight of her stare.

In answer, she daintily cocks one leg behind her head and begins to wash herself. 

"Nice," he grunts, unable to believe how disdainful his cat can be. "Well, I'm going to bed. You can stay out here if you like."

He fully expects her to follow him out of the living room, and he isn't disappointed. As always, her tiny body makes way more noise than he thinks it should when she jumps down off her perch, and the bell on her collar jingles gaily as she trots after him into the bedroom.

"Josh is here," he tells her as she hops up onto the bed while he gets undressed. "He's Red's new mechanic friend. We talked for a bit. It went surprisingly well."

Sachi's never actually met Josh, having come into Vasquez's life almost two years after he'd called an end to things, but she's heard about him on more than one occasion. Hopefully, she won't hold it against him for broaching the topic now. 

"He's different," Vasquez says as he shrugs into a worn t-shirt to sleep in. "I think he's done a lot of growing up since I saw him last. Maybe he's finally become the guy I always thought was in there, hmm?"

Her mouth opening in a yawn that puts all her pointy little teeth on display, Sachi fails to provide him with a helpful response. Although, really, he's got no idea what he's hoping to hear.

"We're going to be friends apparently," he says. "Which is probably a terrible idea, but what was I supposed to do? Tell him he's not allowed to associate with the same people as me? That hardly seems fair."

"I need to stop dwelling on this," he decides as he crawls into bed. Shoving Sachi so she's lying on the side opposite him instead of taking up all the space in the middle of the mattress, he flicks off the light and flops down among the pillows. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Unsurprisingly, Sachi says nothing.

*****

Exactly as Vasquez had feared she would, Emma presses him for details about Josh as soon as she gets him alone again. She shows up to their weekly coffee date wearing the sunglasses she always sports when she's mildly hungover, and her best 'don't fuck with me' expression.

"Coffee first," she says, reaching out for her cup with a confidence borne of years of him showing up early and ordering before her arrival, "then you spill. I want all the sordid details."

"There are no sordid details," Vasquez lies. "We met in college, dated for a while, and broke up a little before I came out here. I haven't seen him since."

"Mhm," Emma says around her first sip of coffee. Vasquez doesn't know why she looks so in need of it, this probably isn't even her first cup of the day. "How long were you together?"

"Three years," he admits, not wanting to add that it'd been three years to the day, and he'd ended things the night Josh had forgotten their anniversary. Without meaning to, he tightens his grip on his own coffee mug as a bunch of unpleasant memories well up.

If she notices anything, Emma's kind enough not to say so. "Three years is a long time," she murmurs around another sip of her drink. "Especially given that you must have been what? Twenty three? Twenty four?"

"Twenty four," Vasquez says. They'd broken up right when he was finishing his masters. The timing had been awful, and had spurred his need for a fresh start somewhere else. 

Emma makes a thoughtful face. "Given how long you were together, I'm surprised you didn't consider getting married."

Vasquez chokes on his drink. "Emma," he sputters, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's none of your business."

"Yeah, sorry," she says, backing down right away. "That one was maybe pushing too much."

"You don't say," Vasquez mutters. "Are we done talking about this? The break up was not one I particularly enjoy thinking about."

"And yet you told him you had no problem with him sticking around," Emma reminds him. "Yeah, I heard from Red that you invited him back out with us again. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Vasquez demands, his gut churning because he's been asking himself that since he'd first let it happen. "Tell him he's not allowed to make new friends just because I knew them first? That'd be cruel. He doesn't know anyone here."

"Besides," honesty forces him to add, "I don't hate him. I ended things because we weren't working as a couple anymore, but he's not a bad person. We just didn't fit."

"Hmm," Emma says, and Vasquez does not like the sound of that. He hits her with his most piercing stare, earning himself an eye roll for his trouble. "Don't give me that look, I'm just wondering if you know what you're doing. You haven't seen the guy in years, and I'm getting the feeling things didn't end overly well."

Vasquez shrugs. "It wasn't exactly seamless, but it could have been worse." He flaps a hand to further illustrate his point. "We talked the other night, after everybody left, cleared the air a bit. It will be fine."

"Mmm, maybe it's meant to be," Emma says then. "Maybe this is why none of your relationships lately have turned into anything. Maybe you've been waiting for him to come back, and this is fate lending you a hand."

Vasquez stares at her. "Or maybe you're full of shit."

She laughs, adjusting her sunglasses. "Or maybe that. I guess we'll see."

*****

Having Josh back in his life is weird for how not weird it is. Vasquez had been dreading the potential awkwardness that would exist between them, but somehow there's no awkwardness to be found. Instead, they fall into an easy friendship that has no basis in the emotional baggage that should probably be there.

It helps, he supposes, that Josh has changed. They trade cell numbers a couple weeks after Josh starts hanging out with their group, and Vasquez nearly faints the first time he sends a text that Josh answers within only a few minutes.

Before such a quick response would be the exception rather than the norm, but now the situation is reversed. Josh never leaves him hanging for long, and even messages that don’t get answered right away still get answered eventually. 

Missed dates also become a thing of the past. Or, well, not dates because they’re not dating, but where Josh would once blow him off for more scheduled hangouts than not, not he shows up for everything he commits to, often times even getting there early.

He falls into this new life Vasquez has carved out for himself; it’s almost like there was a spot left waiting for him. The others all take to him, even Goodnight and Billy, who weren’t there that first night, and don’t always do well with having strangers in their midst.

And it’s not just his personal life where Josh seems to have changed. Vasquez learns from Red that the owner of the garage he and Josh work at, a man named Sam, had been hesitant at first about the hire, but now couldn’t be happier.

In short, Josh is holding down a steady job, has carved out a life for himself that he seems perfectly happy with, and he’s as social and gregarious as ever. He reminds Vasquez of the way he’d been when they’d first met, before everything had fallen so spectacularly off tracks, and it’s getting harder and harder to separate the past from the present.

Even worse, Vasquez isn’t so sure he wants to.

*****

“Emma says you’ve got some big project on the go. That why you’ve been glued to your phone all night?”

Vasquez jerks his head up with a start, doing his best not to look guilty. “Uh,” he says, which really doesn’t help the situation. “Sorry?” He tries, and Josh grins at him over the lip of his beer bottle.

It’s just the two of them left at the table, Vasquez realizes abruptly. Red and Teddy aren’t here tonight, and Matthew’s over near the front of the bar, trying to mediate some kind of dispute between Goodnight and Emma while Billy looks on.

“I’m good,” he says finally. “No distractions here.”

Josh gives him an especially pitying look. “Maybe try that with someone who doesn’t know exactly what you look like when you’re stressing over a deadline.” He suggests, and before Vasquez can figure out what to say that, he stretches out a finger to poke at his phone. “What’s up?”

“Nothing exciting,” Vasquez says awkwardly, trying and failing not to think of all the times he’s tried to get Josh interested in something he was working on to no avail. “I’m sure it would only bore you.”

Josh’s expression shifts to one Vasquez can’t parse out, and he taps the phone screen more forcefully. “Try me,” he says, voice sounding a little stiff. “What’ve you going on?”

Chewing his lip, Vasquez hesitates a little longer before finally giving in. Holding up his phone, he ignores his email and all the areas where he’d been doing actual work in favour of calling up a specific website. “Here. This is what I’m working on.”

“A rec centre?” Josh asks, poking at the phone. “You running it or something?”

“No, nothing like that.” Shaking his head, Vasquez taps a specific link on the screen to better explain what he’s getting at. “I’m working for a non-profit. The community centre is the project. It’s due to open in less than a month, and we’re trying to have it be ready on time.”

“Jesus Christ.” Josh whistles low under his breath. “How long have you been working on it?”

Vasquez considers this. “A year - year and a half.” He shrugs. “Something like that. We’re partnered with a few other organizations, including one working with at risk youth. The centre’s going to wind up housing their program when all is said and done.”

Josh rests his elbows on the table, his half-empty beer seemingly forgotten. “Tell me about it?” He asks, and Vasquez nearly swallows his own tongue.

Five years ago, he’d have given just about anything for Josh to ask him that question. However, five years ago, not only would Josh not have bothered, he’d probably have knocked back the entirety of his drink, and gone in search of another. Vasquez doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do in this new world they’ve accidentally stumbled into.

  
“There’s going to be a big volunteer day a couple of weeks from now,” he concludes once he’s run out of stories to tell. “We’re putting in a large garden to teach about sustainability, as well as some work indoors. The others are all coming,” he adds, not sure if he should or not. “You could top of you like. We can always use an extra set of hands.”

“Sure,” Josh says easily. “Just text me the time and place.”

Vasquez agrees to do so, but inside his guts are churning. This is exactly the kind of thing he’d have set up before, where Josh would promise he was onboard, and then fail to show up. He’s not sure what he’ll do if that turns out to be the case again.

*****

Sochi gives him her most disdainful look when he gets home that night, almost as if she can tell he’s done something irrevocably stupid. She sits atop her favourite perch, her eyes following him to and fro as he putters around the apartment.

“Alright, listen,” he says when he can’t take it any longer. “He brought up my work. Not me. I haven’t said anything about it since I didn’t think he’d be interested.”

*****

Vasquez can't believe he's running late today of all days. He's basically begged every friend he has to come out and volunteer today at the community centre, and what does he do? He sleeps through his alarm, and now he's stuck in traffic on a Saturday morning with there being no way he'll arrive when he'd said he would.

By the time he finally arrives he's almost twenty minutes late and in a foul mood. He'd forgone picking up a coffee in order to reduce his ongoing delay, and it's a decision he's deeply regretting. Realizing he's in no way fit to be around other humans in this state, he heads for the centre kitchen instead of the garden like he's supposed to.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee reaches his nose as he walks down the hallway, telling him he's not the first person to have this idea. Stepping into the kitchen he finds Red already in there with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the coffee maker like he can somehow will it into working faster.

"Was wondering where you were," Red grunts without bothering to turn around at Vasquez's approach. "You said you wanted us all here by nine."

"Sorry," Vasquez says, as contritely as he's able all his attention zeroed in on the pot containing the life sustaining caffeine. "I'm running very behind this morning."

"I can see that." Unfolding his arms, Red finally deigns to look at Vasquez, and he gives him a faint grin in the process. "You haven't missed much. The other coordinators got here on time and sent everyone where they wanted. Teddy's off to carry in a bunch of supplies, which I'll be helping him with when I'm done here, and Goodnight and Emma are decorating one of the playrooms."

"By which you mean Billy and Matthew are decorating, while Goodnight and Emma fight about the decor," Vasquez finishes, and Red's grin broadens in admission of the point.

"Pretty much."

Vasquez shrugs philosophically. "Well, at least it minimizes the amount of damage they can do if they're contained in one room."

"Pretty much," Red repeats. 

The coffee maker chooses this moment to chirp merrily, signalling the completion of its allotted task, and Red sets about pouring multiple cups. Offering one up to Vasquez he nods at a box sitting on a nearby counter. "Sugar and stuff is in there."

"Thank you." Taking the cup, Vasquez shuffles over to the box, blowing on his drink in an attempt to cool it down. Part of him doesn't want to ask, but the rest of him can't help it. "What about Josh?"

Red's quiet for a moment, and then he sighs. "I haven't seen him yet, but I'm sure he's coming. He said he would be."

"Yes," Vasquez says, his heart sinking even as he tells it not too. After all, hadn't he been waiting for this to happen? Not showing up for events like today had been par for the course for Josh five years ago, and he's been telling himself all along not to get his hopes up that that'd changed. 

"He's probably just running late," Red says, when Vasquez adds nothing further. "He knows how important this is to you."

The way Red's speaking tells Vasquez he's trying to be kind, which means it's unfortunate that the words hurt more than they help. Josh had known a lot of things were important to Vasquez in the past. That hadn't usually mattered.

"It's fine," Vasquez says roughly, trying to hide his sudden embarrassment behind a large gulp of coffee. The last thing he needs is Red using his frighteningly good perspective skills to read whatever emotion's on his face right now. "I need to get outside. I'll see you later."

"Sure," Red says, and that's the end of it. Vasquez backs out of the room with a two fingered wave and every intention of fleeing to the relative safety of the garden. Or rather, the space that's meant to become the garden.

Inside the centre is largely empty. The family room the others are working on is upstairs, so he bypasses it entirely, and the outdoor garden is the only other area people are meant to be in today. He has the place all to himself as he makes his way over to the back entrance which will get him outside.

Excited childish squeals herald his exiting the centre, and he blinks as he adjusts to the bright morning sunlight. Shading his eyes with a hand, he cranes his neck to look in the direction of the noise, and almost drops his coffee at what he sees.

Josh is kneeling near one of the raised beds of dirt, patiently showing the half dozen children clustered around him how to best plant the seeds in the ground. His skin is flushed with exertion, and despite the early hour, sweat has already plastered his grey t-shirt to his body.

"Oh shit," Vasquez says succinctly because damnit if he isn't hit with half a dozen inappropriate urges at the sight, not to mention a sudden punch drunk feeling in his gut at the realization that Josh has kept his promise and come out here just because Vasquez asked him to.

"Mr. Vasquez!" A tiny voice shrieking his name shakes him out of his reverie, and Vasquez finds a horde of children - okay six, there are six of them - streaming towards him now that they've noticed he's here. Bianca, her hair tied back in a bunch of stubby braids, leading the charge.

"You're late," she accuses, glaring up at him with all the judgement her eight year old body can contain. "You said everyone was supposed to be here by nine, and that was ages ago. Josh has been here all morning."

Wondering why Josh gets to be referred to on a first name basis, while he's still stuck getting Mister'd after almost a year of knowing her, Vasquez follows Bianca's pointing finger over to where Josh is crossing the garden at a much more sedate pace than the kids. He's got a hoe slung easily over one shoulder, and the corner of his mouth tilts up in an amused grin.

"All morning's a bit of a stretch there, kiddo," he tells Bianca. Turning to Vasquez he adds, "I figured you might want some help setting up so I got here around eight. That old Horne fella was the only one who beat me, and he sent me out here to start with the digging. Where've you been?"

"I - uh, alarm trouble," Vasquez mutters, uncomfortably reminded of the times he'd given Josh grief for showing up somewhere half an hour late. "Sorry."

Josh raises an eyebrow at this, but follows it up with an amicable shrug. "Sh - stuff happens," he says, doing a decent job of cutting off the profanity before it's all the way out of his mouth.

Vasquez laughs. "Nice save."

Josh makes a face at him, but holds off on any further retorts, probably because whatever he wants to say isn't fit for pint sized ears. Instead, he shrugs a second time and moves to offer Vasquez the hoe he's still holding. "If you want to work with this some, I can get back to showing these terrors how to plant stuff. Horne gave me a map of which seeds and things are going where."

And wasn't that helpful of Jack? First he got Josh all sun kissed and sweaty from tilling the ground, and now he's got him mentoring at risk youth. If Vasquez didn't know any better, he'd think this was a deliberate attack on him.

"Ale?" Something in Josh's tone tells Vasquez this isn't the first time his name has been called, and he tries not to look guilty as he shifts to meet his gaze.

"Sorry, what?" Both Josh and the kids are staring at him now, and all Vasquez can think is that it's far too early in the morning to be dealing with whatever this is. "What were you saying?"

Josh smirks, and points at the hoe Vasquez belatedly realizes he's now holding. "You dig, I plant, and the monsters do as they please. Sound good?"

"They're not monsters." Vasquez murmurs a token protest, one that makes Josh's expression soften.

"Nah, they're pretty cool," he agrees, turning to look as most of the kids begin to spread out around the boxes of seeds, pointing excitedly and talking about all the things they're going to grow. "I'm starting to see why you like this kind of thing, and why it means so much to you."

"I - thank you," Vasquez says helplessly. He's at a loss for how to answer. "And thanks for coming. I can't imagine this is how you wanted to spend your weekend.

His face flushing, Josh scuffs his foot on the ground. "You asked, and I knew it was important to you, so - . I don't - fuck." He runs a hand through his hair, making the reddish strands stand up in short, damp spikes. 

"I'm trying to be better," he says then, raising his head and looking Vasquez determinedly in the eye. "I know we're not - and that I fucked up a lot in the past, but, ugh, I don't know how to say this. I'm not nearly as much of a screw up anymore, and I want to show you that."

Vasquez swallows thickly, sternly reminding himself that there are children present, so he can't respond in the way he wants to - by kissing Josh right on his stupidly perfect mouth. He also tells himself he voluntarily gave up the right to do that anyway when he ended things between them. Josh isn't saying he wants to get back together, and that's no doubt be a terrible idea.

It's just - when Vasquez thinks about it - he can't come up with any decent reasons why.

*****

"I'm fucked," he tells Emma over coffee a few days later. "Utterly utterly fucked."

" ... okay." Picking up a packet of Splenda, Emma tears it open and dumps it into her cup, stirring it even though she doesn't need to.

"You know that stuff is awful for you, yes?" Vasquez asks, wrinkling his nose as the thought of what she's doing to a perfectly innocent cup of coffee. "It's terribly unhealthy."

"Mhm," Emma says, still stirring. "You know what else is unhealthy? Pining over your ex-boyfriend for having the nerve to grow up since you last saw him, and then not doing anything about it."

"Yes," Vasquez sighs. "This is probably true."

Her eyebrows rising in surprise, Emma finally deigns to look up from where she's apparently trying to create the perfect beverage. "That's unexpected. I didn't think you'd admit to it so easily."

Shrugging, Vasquez knocks back a gulp of his own drink, burning his tongue in the process because he hasn't given it enough time to cool down. "Maldita," he hisses, hoping he hasn't just seared away half his tastebuds. "That was stupid."

"Plenty of things are," Emma agrees, and rather than actually drink her own coffee, she props her elbows up on the table to rest her chin in her hands. "Like the way you're handling this whole thing with Josh for instance. That's damned stupid."

Vasquez glares at her. "I don't recall asking for your opinion," he says snidely.

All that earns him is a snort. "Please," she says derisively, "if you hadn't wanted my opinion, you wouldn't have brought it up. You coming in here and telling me how fucked you are is basically a public cry for help. Lucky for you, I'm a real giver when it comes to this shit, so I'm willing to do just that."

"Oh yeah?" Vasquez grouses. He suddenly wishes there was something a lot stronger than coffee in his cup, or that he hadn't quit smoking back before he moved here. Right now he'd give just about anything for a distraction, no matter how bad for him.

"Yeah," Emma shoots back, apparently unaware that his inner monologue is currently trying to get him to engage in illicit substances. "Because I'm going to tell you what you need to do, which is talk to Josh before you do something really stupid."

"Like what?" Vasquez asks, genuinely curious.

"Like go too long without making a move," she replies, her voice and expression both stern. "He's not going to do it himself because you ended things the last time, but I'll bet my entire marriage he wants it too. Only the longer you take, the more likely it is he'll get tired of waiting and figure it's time to move on. Is that what you want to have happen?"

"No," Vasquez blurts out in a total knee jerk reaction. He may not be one hundred percent certain what he does want, but he knows it isn't that. Glancing down at his hands, he twists his fingers around the rim of his cup, wondering what to do. "You really think that's how he feels?"

"Don't you?" She asks, and Vasquez has no idea how to answer that. Sometimes he does, and sometimes he doesn't. Josh's words at the community centre had certainly seemed to imply something, but what if he was wrong? What if he was reading something between the lines that wasn't really there?

"I don't know what to do," he groans, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands.

Emma gives him a look that implies she feels little sympathy for him. "You absolutely do," she doesn't quite snap. "You just need to get over yourself long enough to actually do it."

Vasquez flaps a hand at her, but it just makes her glower at him even more deeply. "I mean it," she says, "and if you don't I might just take matters into my own hands. How does that sound?"

Thanks to how tied in knots Vasquez is, it almost sounds helpful. However, he's not stupid enough to actually tell her that. God knows what would happen if he did. Sighing, he takes another drink of his coffee.

*****

With everything that's going on with Josh, not to mention Emma's ensuing exasperation with him, Vasquez thinks he can be forgiven for forgetting that his birthday is fast approaching. It's not until Teddy jokingly asks him how he feels to be heading for the, as he puts it, 'dirty thirty' that he remembers it's coming up.

Shrugging, Vasquez takes a swig of his beer bottle before resting it back on the tabletop. "Too be honest, amigo, I haven't given it much thought. Been too busy with work and everything else going on."

"What? Ale!" Sitting in the other side of their usual both, Josh makes a scolding noise from where he's been otherwise quiet for most of the night. "It's your birthday, man. You can't just let it pass by like it's nothing."

He sounds distressingly earnest, and Vasquez can already tell tonight's going to require harder liquor than usual. There's no way he's going to be able to handle the way Josh is looking at him, not while sober anyway.

Flagging down the waitress, he signals for another beer and then reclines back further in his seat. "It's just another day as far as I'm concerned, guero. I can't remember the last time I made a big deal about it."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better," Josh groans. Frowning, he glances around the table at the other four. "Please tell me we're not going to let him get away with that."

"Vasquez gets huffy when we try and cause a fuss over it," Emma explains, which was true, "but you're right. We can't let him do that this year."

"We can't?" Matthew echoes, and she nudges him none too gently in the side.

"No, we can't." She says firmly. "Thirty's a special occasion, so we're going to at least do something." Shifting in her seat, she catches Vasquez with her most piercing stare. "It's on a Friday, so that's perfect. You be at our place for seven o'clock. Look nice, but don't worry about bringing anything. The rest of us will deal with that."

"I -" Vasquez starts to protest, only to feel a sharp stinging sensation in his leg when Josh kicks him in the shin.

"No," Josh says as Vasquez turns to cast him a betrayed glance. "Do as Emma says."

"And if I don't want to?" Vasquez grumbles, rubbing his leg. It's mostly for show, he knows when he's beat, and everyone at the table is now eying him determinedly. 

"You want to," Josh says knowingly, and damnit if he isn't right.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Vasquez gives up on massaging his leg, and smiles gratefully when the waitress returns with his beer. Straightening up, he accepts it with a nod before looking around at his friends. "Fine," he says, caving, "but I'm agreeing to this under duress."

Emma's staring at him in an uncomfortably calculating way, but she says nothing when he quirks an eyebrow at her. He can only hope she's not plotting something terrible at his expense.

On the other hand, it's not like there's much point in fighting her, is there?

*****

The night of his birthday finds him standing on Emma and Matthew's doorstep and wondering if he's dares to go inside. He can hear the sound of people talking from all the way out here, and as much as he may be rethinking this, he's willing to bet it will not go over well if he ducks out of his own party. Sighing, he turns the doorknob, not surprised at all when he finds it unlocked.

He’s greeted by a number of familiar faces, as well as some not so familiar ones. Emma grabs him immediately upon entry, and he finds himself dragged from person to person after she tells him he needs to ‘do the rounds’.

Josh laughs as they come upon him in the kitchen. “She got you, did she?”

Vasquez nods fervently, and makes a show of trying to shake his arm free from Emma’s grip. “She won’t let go,” he says mournfully. “I think I’m stuck like this, and I don’t even have alcohol.”

Laughing again, Josh leans over and opens the fridge door. Inside, Vasquez can see a bottle of his favourite brand of wine chilling on a shelf. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. As soon Ems is satisfied you’ve said hi to everyone, that’s all yours.”

Vasquez shifts to look at Emma. “Was that your idea?” He asks.

She shakes her head, and gives him a look that is probably meant to say something he can’t figure out. “Not me. Josh showed up with it under his arm.”

“Technically it was in a cooler,” Josh disagrees. Then he gives Vasquez a sheepish look. “I figured as the birthday boy, you ought to be able have your preferred drink around.”

“Which he can have when he’s done,” Emma says, cutting in while Vasquez is still trying to figure out how to respond. “Say goodbye, Ale. You can hide out with Josh once you’ve shown your face for a bit.”

Any protest Vasquez might make gets lost as she hauls him back into the living room. He shoots Josh an apologetic look over his shoulder, and gets a fleeting grin in response. Thinking that he’d much rather be allowed to stay in the kitchen, Vasquez nevertheless resolved to doing as Emma says for the next while.

By the time Emma’s satisfied with his level of sociability, Vasquez is on the fast track to feeling burnt out. Bypassing all the other guests entirely, he bums a cigarette and a lighter off Billy, and then heads for the back porch.

The party has yet to spill over outside of the house. In fact, the sliding doors are still locked and everything. Undeterred, Vasquez fixes that in only a moment, before slipping out into the cool night air.

Despite the fact that there’s no one out here, someone’s seen fit to make sure nobody accidentally wanders out into the dark. The fairy lights Matthew and Emma keep strung up year round are lit up, effectively making it impossible to stumble around in the pitch black.

Not really caring if he can see or not, Vasquez sags tiredly over the railing, letting out a heavy sigh. He stays like that for a few moments, slowly starting to relax, and then lights his purloined smoke.

The first drag hits him hard because he’s out of practice. Undeterred, however, he doesn’t let that stop him, and he’s still smoking it when the door slides open behind him.

“I thought you quit,” a familiar voice says, and Vasquez wishes he could say he was surprised when he turns to find Josh watching him with his head tilted to the side.

“Yes, well,” he mutters. Talking doesn’t work around the cigarette, though, so he pulls it out of his mouth. “Sometimes I fall back on bad habits.”

“Gotcha.” Striding forward, Josh leans over the railing for a moment, gazing at something Vasquez suspects only he can see. Then he turns around, and reclines with his back up against it. “Emma sent me to come find you. Apparently there’s going to be cake soon.”

“Can’t it wait?” Vasquez whines, not wanting to go back inside so quickly. “It’s my birthday,” he complains. “Don’t I get a say in what I do for it?”

“I’m pretty sure you gave that up when you agreed to become friends with Emma,” Josh replies. “She’s pretty good at taking over things.”

“Maybe,” Vasquez agrees morosely. “Or maybe I am just good at giving up things I should keep hold of.” He thinks about how he’d given up on Josh, and snorts. “Actually, I am definitely good at that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Josh asks. His voice is steady, but there’s a tightening in his posture that makes Vasquez think he’s not as calm as he seems. 

Vasquez shrugs, figuring they’ve been heading towards this discussion for ages now, so why not have it here. “I gave up on you,” he says flatly, looking away when Josh gapes at him. He becomes suddenly very interested in the half-smoked cigarette still in his hand. “I regret it.”

“You shouldn’t,” Josh says, and Vasquez glances back up at his serious tone. “You really, really shouldn’t.”

Finally tired of toying with the cigarette, Vasquez let’s it fall from nerveless fingers, and makes a show of stomping it out beneath his shoe. “I should,” he says when he looks up again. “And I do.”

Josh snorts. “What were you supposed to do? Waste 5-6 years of your life waiting for me to wise up? Ale," He shakes his head, his voice gentle, "I couldn't live with myself if you'd done that. I wasn't worth the effort back then. We weren't on the same page."

"And now?" Vasquez asks, his chest tightening at the thought of what the answer might be. "Are we on the same page now?"

Josh sucks in a heavy breath, his eyes widening as he takes a step back, like he's afraid to get too close. "Ale, that's an impossible question to answer, and you know it. Fuck."

"Fine," Vasquez, determined to see this through no matter how it plays out, "then are we in a place where we can try and figure it out? Because I want to," he says, before adding daringly, "and I think you do too."

"Of course I do," Josh barks. "That's - that's fucking obvious!"

"Then why aren't we?" Vasquez demands. "Josh, if it's what we both want then why aren't we doing it?"

"Because I'm not good enough for you," Josh says, and his words hit Vasquez like a blast of cold water to the face, leaving him staring open mouthed at the man across from him, unable to figure out a response.

"I'm not good enough for you," Josh repeats, quieter this time. "I definitely wasn't then, and I'm probably still not now. I already ruined us once by taking you for granted, and who says I won't do that again?"

"The bottle of wine in Emma's fridge says that," Vasquez declares. "Just like text messages you answer, and the work at the community centre, and the asking about how I am, and - and all of it! You are exactly what I was looking for the last time."

"And I'm different too," he soldiers on because after all the water under the bridge it's time he admit the role he'd played in their break up as well. "I pushed too much. I was demanding, and tried to make you be someone you weren't. I accused you of never listening to me, but I never bothered to explain what I wanted you to hear. It wasn't fair."

"Hey," Josh cuts in, stepping forward and gripping Vasquez by the elbows to try and make him calm down. "Ale, stop. It's okay. I swear it wasn't like that, not at all."

"Yes it was," Vasquez insists, but Josh just gives him a weak grin.

"Now who's not listening?" He asks, shaking Vasquez gently. "Darlin', call it the wisdom that comes with age, but we just weren't right for each other back then."

"I know that," Vasquez replies, wishing he could find the right words for what he's trying to get across, but reasonably certain he's failing. "What I'm saying is that I think we're right for each other now, and I want to see if it's true."

Josh swallows thickly, but rather than release his grip on Vasquez's arms, he maintains his hold. "Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure that's what you want?"

"Sí," Vasquez says, nodding furiously for extra emphasis. "What do you want? The same thing, or something different?"

"What the fuck do you think?" Josh asks, and then he kisses him right there on the porch beneath Emma and Matthew's stupid fairy lights.

The kiss brings with it a rush of memories, most of them pleasant, with a few of them being decidedly less so. Vasquez, however, tells every last one to go take a hike, and concentrates on the here and now. He doesn't want to dwell on the past, he wants a fresh start he can use to make new memories with. 

Large hands settle on his hips, fingers hooking in the belt loops of his jeans to drag him in until he's standing flush against Josh, pressed chest to chest as they kiss messily. He lets one of his hands curl into the fabric of Josh's shirt, right above his heart, while the other he tangle in thick auburn hair, gripping maybe a little more roughly than he should.

On the other hand, if the appreciative noises Josh is making are anything to go by, he's doing just fine. One or maybe both of them groans, and Vasquez comes to the abrupt realization that they're moments away from publicly embarrassing themselves where all their friends can see.

"Josh," he pants, breaking off the kiss and pulling away all of an inch or two. "Guero, we can't do this here. Our entire social circle is inside that house. My colleagues, your *boss*. It's a terrible idea."

"Nothing that lets me have you is a terrible idea," Josh tells him, and what can Vasquez say to that? Obviously the only appropriate response is to kiss him all over again.

Which is how Emma finds them who knows how many minutes later. Vasquez is pressed up against the deck railing with both of his hands fisted in Josh's hair, and Josh has a thigh pressed in between the spread of his legs, shamelessly grinding upwards when a sharp cough rings out.

"Ahem," Emma crosses his arms over her chest and taps one foot repeatedly against the wooden flooring of the porch. "Did you two forget there's a party going on inside? Alejandro, you in particular should be ashamed of yourself. We put this together for you, after all."

"I just came outside for some air!" Vasquez protests, wincing when Emma snorts disbelievingly.

"How convenient that you found it in Josh's mouth," she says coolly. "Now come inside, the pair of you. There's a cake that needs cutting, and you've got the rest of your lives to stare at each other stupidly. Food now, ridiculous teenage makeouts later."

"That woman has baffling priorities," Josh mutter lowly as Emma spins on one heel and heads back into the house, the door sliding closed behind her. "Cake is the last thing on my mind right now."

"Mine too," Vasquez assures him, "but she will come right back out here if we don't follow. Trust me on this."

"Yeah, I believe you," Josh says, sighing forlornly. "I guess we'll just have to pick up where we left off later."

Vasquez feels a little thrill shoot through him at this notion, and it's all he can do not to laugh like a giddy schoolboy. Reaching out, he clamps his hand around Josh's collar and drags him in for one last kiss, this one a promise of what's to come. 

"I need you to hear one last thing before we go inside," he says once that's done. "It's important."

"Okay," Josh says dubiously. He looks concerned, but resolutely squares his shoulders. "What is it?"

"You are absolutely good enough for me," Vasquez says firmly, placing a finger over Josh's mouth when he opens it to protest. "No, I mean it. You're all I've wanted for months now, and I can't have you thinking I'm somehow better than you. I'm not. Do you understand?"

Josh gives him a look that suggests that protest might still be coming, but another look from Vasquez seems to make him think twice about voicing it. "You're all I've wanted for months now too," he says instead.

"Good," Vasquez says, pleased that for now they're on the same page. He knows it won't always be that way, but at least this time they're willing to work for it. "We're going to be better this time, I know it."

Josh laughs and tangles their fingers together, making no move to step inside the house. "You're damn right we are."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon era AU with the premise of Faraday being a resident of Rose Creek at the beginning of Bogue’s invasion. The idea was for him to survive and bond with Vas while recuperating, but it never got all that far.

Vasquez has next to no idea what to make of the warrant officer who eventually tracks him down outside of Amador, and he has even less of one for the man’s travelling companion. The red headed woman is quiet and somber, her face lined with pain. It’s only when she responds to his teasing once he’s roped her down, hissing and spitting mad as she lashes out as much as she’s able, that he realizes she may well be the more dangerous of the two.

Slowly, the story behind their reason for being here comes out, and while he’s surprised it’s not the money he‘s worth that they’re after, he supposes the potential aid he represents makes sense. They provide him with greater details as the three of them ride towards Chisolm’s intended meeting spot, revealing the true extent of the fool’s errand they’re set upon, as well as the dire circumstances that could use a man of his skills.

Even still, he doesn’t much care for the odds as they stand.

His mood does nothing to improve when they’re joined a day later by the widow Cullen’s companion and the two men he’d been sent to fetch. Or rather, the one man and his unexpected travelling companion.

Goodnight Robicheaux is enough of a legend, and Vasquez has spent enough time in America that he knows who the man is, has heard tales of his prowess and deeds with a rifle. If he’s as good as those tales say then he’ll certainly be a help to their cause.

At their first introduction, Billy Rocks gives Vasquez the slow, precise nod of one predator acknowledging another. Regardless of whether or not Robicheaux turns out to be as dangerous as expected, there’s a solid chance he won’t hold a candle to his partner. For some reason Vasquez finds that amusing.

Teddy Q, the last to round out their merry band (at least for the time being), Vasquez almost dismisses out of hand. It’s to his credit that he’s followed Mrs. Cullen this far, to say nothing of the fact that he’d gone to track down a dangerous war hero all on his own at Chisolm’s command, but he’s clearly as wet behind the ears as they come, something that’s of little to no use in a war.

Q’s hesitance becomes all the more obvious as they head out, what with the way he keeps to the back of the pack with the widow. She also says virtually nothing as they ride, unlike Robicheaux, who keeps up a steady stream of chatter that he drags Vasquez into.

The Cajun looks honestly amused when Vasquez raises the possibility of their grandfather’s meeting at the Alamo. Rather than take offence at the notion of the elder Vasquez killing his own ancestor, he snickers readily and declares that they’re bonding while Rocks and Chisolm look on in amusement.

It’s as unlikely a set of travelling companions as Vasquez has ever expected to have, remaining so even after Jack Horne refuses the offer of their company. On the other hand, not a soul of them has tried to kill him yet, and the unexpected sense of security is such that he finds himself drifting off to sleep between one blink and the next when they make camp later that evening.

*****

Despite the way he falls asleep first, he’s the last to rise in the morning, and he’s helped along by the boot Chisolm nudges into his side. Scrubbing at his eyes to try and focus, he firmly noted that old Horne has reappeared, as well as that they’ve been joined by another unexpected companion.

Vasquez has seen members of the Comanche tribe before, albeit usually not this close up. He recalls his words from the day prior, back when they’d passed by the raised grave, unable to help but wonder if he’d inadvertently summoned this new one by speaking ill of his people. It wouldn’t be the first time his mouth had gotten him in trouble after all.

Only it turns out they’re not in trouble. In fact, the young warrior appears to be something of an outcast in his own right, one who’s decided seemingly at random to throw his lot in with them. It’s unexpected to say the least, but there’s not a man or woman among their crew who’s about to turn down an able bodied fighter.

Their number set, they continue the trek towards Rose Creek, covering the ground with admirable speed as they draw nearer. Then, when the town comes into view, they slow to plan their approach.

“The lady says there’s over two dozen of Bogue’s men in there,” Robicheaux says, his eyes shadowed as he nods towards the path that will take them into town. “Two dozen of them and only six of us. I can’t say I like those odds much, Sam.”

Chisolm shrugs, any concern he might be feeling well hidden beneath the outer facade of his expression. “If it was easy, she wouldn’t have hired us,” he replies, as if they weren’t the only men Mrs. Cullen has been able to find. “Besides, that’s barely four against one. You mean to tell me you’ve let yourself go so badly in your old age that you can’t handle such a little skirmish?”

Robicheaux responds with an eye roll Vasquez feels is more than justified, followed by a rueful grin. “Alright, Sam,” he drawls, tipping his hat in agreement, or possibly resignation. “If that’s how you want to play this than that’s what we’ll do.”

Now Vasquez rolls his eyes at the pair of them.

*****

Surprisingly, none of them die upon their retaking the town. Plenty of Blackstones die of, of course, with only the town’s now defrocked Sheriff and a man who slips past Robicheaux’s clutches living to tell the tale, but the entirety of their party comes away unscathed.

Physically, anyway. Vasquez has some concerns regarding Robicheaux when he sees the way Rocks shadows his every move. 

Telling himself that’s not his problem, even though in a way it very much is, he turns his attention to Chisolm as they watch the ragged ex-Sheriff take his leave. “Are you sure that’s wise?” He asks. “Antagonizing this Bogue so pointedly?”

Chisolm’s answering snort is dismissive to say the least. “We need him to come to us if we’re going to put an end to this once and for all. Who cares about the words used to get him here?”

About to say that he cares if said words make Bogue extra inclined towards violence, Vasquez stops when it dawns on him this will do him no good. Instead, he shrugs and glances around the eerily empty streets. “Where is everybody?”

None of the other five answer him, and the silence remains until the sound of hoofbeats reaches their ears. Then Emma Cullen and her young companion are riding into view, with the widow calling for people to come out as she arrives.

Slowly, and with no small amount of hesitance, doors begin to open, spilling forth anxious looking men and women, most of whom mill about blinking in the harsh sunlight. It’s readily apparent that no one knows what to make of the ragtag band suddenly in their midst, except perhaps that they’re to be feared.

Vasquez feels his own sense of unease prickling at the skin on the back of his neck. It’s been months since he’s set foot in a town, even one as small as this one, and he can’t quite shake the worry that someone might recognize him. Recognize him, that his, and see him as a prize to be brought in.

He’s so caught up in his internal deliberations that he misses most of what passes between Cullen, Chisolm, and the townsfolk. It’s only when he hears talk of food that he clues back in, shifting idly as they’re pointed in the direction of the saloon. 

They’re each offered rooms of their own; business in the town scarce enough that none of them have to share. Vasquez claims one near the top of the stairs, while Chisolm and Red Harvest each pick one as well. Rocks and Robicheaux elect to remain together, though, and Horne declines the offer of a room altogether.

“I prefer the outdoors,” is all he’ll say on the matter, and no one tries to stop him as he lumbers off to go make camp elsewhere. They’ve all learned sure enough to let the old trapper do as he pleases.

“Think we’ll see him again before morning?” Robicheaux asks as he leaves. Next to him, Rocks tilts his head, considering, but doesn’t offer up a comment.

Chisolm, however, does. “Ms. Cullen mentioned the prospect of a home cooked meal not long ago. I doubt even Jack will pass that up if it’s on offer.”

It’s a prediction that turns out to be true, as Horne reappears just as the rest of them are sitting down at a table. He takes a spot with barely a nod in greeting, settling down by Red Harvest, who’s glaring sullenly as his plate.

The young Comanche mutters something Vasquez is willing to bet is derogatory, but whether that’s about the food or the company is anybody’s guess.

For his part, Vasquez largely ignores the conversations going on around him, and sets about properly filling his stomach for the first time in months. These past few nights on the trail had been somewhat better with others around to watch his back, but they’d still only had so many supplies to share and he’d gone to sleep with familiar hunger pangs, just ones that didn’t growl quite so loud.

He knows a number of the locals come in to gawk at them, but by the time he finally sits back with a satisfied sigh, even the most curious of spectators have taken off home to prepare for the coming morning. Only Emma Cullen and Teddy Q are still around, apparently because they want to talk business.

“You’d better tell us what we’re in for tomorrow,” Chisolm says as they squeeze themselves into the remaining space at the table, of which there isn’t much. “You two know these people best, what’re they saying?”

Q winces, looking pained, but Cullen remains resolute. “Plenty of folks are leaving,” she admits, not so much as flinching when she does so, “but plenty are staying too.”

Chisolm nods, clearly having expected this. “Anyone who wants to fight, we’ll find a place for them, but can you tell us of any special skills we might be able to make use of?”

“That depends on what kind of use you’re looking for,” she replies simply. “When it comes to repairing and fortifying the town you’ll find all manner of useful and willing hands. When it comes to shooting though, not to mention killing ... well, it’s like the preacher said, they’ll try, but there’s no guarantee they’ll succeed.”

Chisolm continues to appear impassive, but across from him Robicheaux makes an aggrieved noise. “Is there no one here with any knack for a firearm?” He asks plaintively.

“A few,” Cullen tells him. “The preacher is actually a decent shot, albeit one who’s a gentle soul, and that arm of his is going to complicate things further. Then Josiah the schoolteacher, provided he stays, is a surprisingly good marksmen, while a number of others have at least the basic knack down for hunting. I’m not saying it’s going to compare to Bogue’s army, of course, but it won’t be just the six of you facing him at least.”

“At least,” Chisolm echoes. He turns to Robicheaux, raising an eyebrow while one corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. “Looks like you’re going to have to revert back to your old drill sergeant days,” he declares. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Absolutely delightful,” Robicheaux says sarcastically. The smile he flashes doesn’t even come close to meeting his eyes, and he takes a fortifying gulp of whiskey before he speaks again. “I trust you’ll come along and help me there?”

Chisolm nods, and then shifts his gaze to Rocks. “Billy, I want you to see if you can share a little of what you do with those knives of yours. Guns are doing to be our main weapons here, but any trick at all is worth knowing in a fight.”

Rocks answering smile is more akin to a pained grimace, but it seems to be enough for Chisolm, who moves immediately on to Red Harvest. He mutters something in the younger man’s tongue, looking pleased when he gets an affirmative noise in response. “Good. The rest of you can work on repairs. Pay special attention to the church. I expect we’re going to need its steeple in particular.”

Chisolm holds each of their gazes in turn, as if waiting for some protest or another. When none are forthcoming, he lets out a pleased sounding huff. “Well, alright then,” he says. “Unless there’s some point one of you would like to raise, I suggest we all get a bit of shuteye. I expect tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

“No doubt,” Cullen agrees. Looking more alive than she has in the four days Vasquez has known her, she moves to stand, but stops when Teddy places a tentative hand on her elbow.

“What about Faraday?” He asks, speaking with all the care of a man treading into a minefield.

Cullen makes a scoffing sound and drags her hand free. “What about Faraday?” She asks, her annoyance plain. “I can’t imagine the likes of him will want to stay and defend the town. Odds are good he rides off first thing tomorrow if he hasn’t left already.”

Teddy squares his shoulders, not yet ready to give up the fight. “Under the terms of your deal ...” he starts, but he gets no further, as Cullen cuts him off with a sharp shake of her head.

“No,” she says firmly. “It was one thing for me to keep him here to do an honest day’s work, but I’ve no right to coerce him into dying for a place not his own. Not unless it’s of his own volition.”

Vasquez almost protests this on the grounds that that’s essentially exactly what Chisolm has done to him, but he’s too intrigued by their argument to bother. A fact that must be shared by his table mates because they’re all just watching it unfold.

That is, they are until Robicheaux clears his throat loudly. “Begging your pardon,” he starts when the locals turn to side eye him, “but who is it you two are talking about, and am I to understand that you think he might be of some assistance to our upcoming endeavour?”

Cullen rolls her eyes and doesn’t bother trying to hide it. “Joshua Faraday,” she says through slightly gritted teeth, “is technically the town horse trader. He replaced one who had to move on due to a bout of ill health. He’d probably be useful in a fight like this, but there’s no chance he’ll stay.”

“Why not?” Chisolm asks. 

“Because he’s not here by choice,” she replies. “As near as anyone can figure, he’s a drifter who normally makes a leaving by fleecing folks at the card table. He stopped in town maybe a month before Bogue arrived, and lost his prized stallion in a bet gone wrong. He’s been paying his debt ever since to get the damned beast back.”

“And the response to a man like that was to offer him a job?” Robicheaux asks aghast. “Whatever possessed someone to do such a thing?”

“It was my idea,” Cullen says stiffly. “We needed someone to replace Kent, if only on a temporary basis until a more suitable candidate could be found, and Faraday fit the description. That stallion of his is utterly unmanageable by normal folks, it almost killed a stablehand the first night here, but for Faraday it’s docile as a lamb. I took a chance that he’d have some skill, and it turned out I was right.”

Having done his fair share of work with horses, Vasquez thinks the very idea of what she’s suggesting sounds insane, but apparently it’s just par for the course for her. Perhaps the remaining Rose Creek villagers shouldn’t have been so surprised she’d gone out searching for paid killers to fight on her side.

On the other hand, that’s not the only odd part of this conversation. “What makes you so sure this man will be useful in a fight?” He asks, speaking up for the first time since he’d finished eating. “A roving gambler who’s good with horses would only have gotten so far against the men we faced today.”

Cullen’s eyes narrow. “He’s good with guns and not afraid to use them,” she says, although she provides no further explanation. “Ask him to stay if you like. I expect you’ll be wasting your breath, but I suppose I’ve been surprised before.”

She does not, Vasquez notes, say whether or not such a surprise would be a pleasant one. Now intrigued in spite of himself, he turns to Chisolm. “What do you think? Maybe this is worth looking into, yes?”

“Agreed,” Chisolm nods, “but not tonight. We’re all tired, and we’ll likely be needing the rest even more than most.” He tilts his head towards Cullen. “If he’s still around, where might we find this Faraday fellow?”

She shrugs. “Kent’s stables were on the far end of town. He had a little cabin near the back of the property, and Faraday’s settled himself in there. When he’s not working or getting drunk at the card table, that’s where you’ll find him.”

“So be it then,” Chisolm decides. “Vasquez, since you seem interested, you can head over there with me first thing tomorrow. Everyone else, go about your tasks like we planned, and we’ll join you once we’re done.”

He stands then, effectively putting an end to the conversation. “See you all in the morning.”

*****

Morning dawns bright and early the next day, but given how well he sleeps in comparison to the past several months, Vasquez is awake and dressed and downstairs digging into breakfast by the time Chisolm comes looking for him. 

“Thought I’d have to break the door down given how heavy you slept on the road,” he jokes as grabs a seat next to Vasquez at the table he’s claimed for himself. “Feeling okay today?”

“Yes,” Vasquez says around a mouthful of bacon, refusing to add anything more than that. 

If he’s offended, Chisolm doesn’t show it. Standing again, he wanders off to grab his own meal, soon returning with a plate that’s almost as heavily laden as Vasquez’s own. “Might as well take what’s available,” he says, “especially while it’s hot.”

Vasquez hasn’t been in much of a position to comment on the state of his food lately. So long as it’s been fresh enough to not make him ill, he’s eaten what’s been available. On the other hand, he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth where decent meals are concerned.

Despite his later start, Chisolm finishes eating first, but makes no move to force Vasquez to stop until he’s had his fill. He waits patiently enough, nodding easily when Vasquez swallows his final mouthful and swipes a hand over his mouth to show he’s done.

The sun is well up when they exit the building, and the heat with it. A number of people are already milling about in the street, loading up wagons and carriages with what possessions they can. Fear hangs heavy in the air, and it’s obvious that those who are leaving are anxious to be on their way.

A few stop what they’re doing to watch as they pass them by, but most wont even look up, much less meet their eyes. It’s like they’ve been painted by their willingness to fight for this town, or worse con others into joining them.

“Friendly bunch,” Chisolm mutters as they walk, and Vasquez shrugs.

“At least they’re not shooting at us,” he says philosophically, which gets him a grunt in response.

They lapse back into silence then, and the stables come into view not long after. A large brown stallion is out in the front paddock, his body language suggesting that he’s unimpressed with their presence as they approach.

“You think this is the horse Senora Cullen mentioned?” Vasquez asks, eying the animal warily. He has enough experiences with horses to know they won’t necessarily stay contained if they don’t want to, and this one looks more temperamental than most.

“Reckon that’s a safe enough bet,” Chisolm mutters back. “Beautiful animal,” he adds, “and not saddled for travel either, I feel I should point out.”

Vasquez nods in acknowledgement, but chooses not to read anything into this. Carefully skirting around the edge of the paddock - carefully because the stallion is stalking along the railings after them, his ears drawn back irritably - he follows Chisolm up to the cabin, waiting semi-patiently while the other man brings a hand up to rap his knuckles against the front door.

There’s no answer initially, and Vasquez shifts from foot to foot as Chisolm knocks again, noting idly that the porch is in a somewhat dilapidated condition with at least one of the boards creaking ominously under their weight.

Chisolm’s second knock gets them no further than the first, but his third - considerably sharper than the previous two - comes with a different result. There’s a crash from within the cabin, indicating that perhaps its occupant had tripped over something, and an irritated voice snaps out, demanding to know what they want.

“A word, Mr. Faraday,” Chisolm says through the door. “If we might have a moment of your time, that is.”

It’s at this point that the door is unceremoniously yanked open, revealing a large, auburn haired man on the other side. He peers at them blearily for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing when neither of them says anything. “Who the hell are you two?”

Chisolm blinks, and Vasquez is a little taken aback himself. No one else in town had missed their arrival, so it stands to reason Faraday must have some idea of who they are. Then again, if he’s got no interest in the town’s wellbeing, maybe he hadn’t bothered to find out all the details of yesterday’s fight.

Just as Vasquez is about to ask Chisolm what he wants to do, Faraday’s expression clears, and he swears impressively. “You’re that warrant officer aren’t you?” He says, jabbing a finger towards Chisolm. “The one who’s got these idiots thinking they can take on a robber baron like Bogue and win. The fuck are you wanting with me?”

“You have to ask?” Chisolm says, clearly deciding not to beat around the bush. “Our employer, Ms. Cullen, is of the impression you might have some skills that’ll be useful in the upcoming events. We’re here to see if you might be interested in lending us your talents.”

“We?” Faraday asks, and when he turns to Vasquez it’s like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Oh good, you’ve got a Mexican. That’ll put the fear of God into Bogue for sure.”

Vasquez feels himself start to bristle, and Chisolm places a placating hand on his shoulder. “Given the damage he did with those pistols of his yesterday, it just might. On the other hand, we could use all the able bodies we can get. Can we have a moment of your time?”

“Not likely,” Faraday snorts, crossing his admittedly impressive arms over his chest. “If Cullen told you anything about me, I’m sure it included the fact that this isn’t my town. Not like it is the rest of ‘em’s anyway. I’m leaving.”

“What if we make it worth your while?” Chisolm asks, which brings not only Faraday up short, but Vasquez as well. This is the first he’s heard about offering the man anything to fight with them.

He keeps his mouth shut, however, and watches as Faraday deliberates. The other man glances back and forth between them, obviously skeptical, before grunting harshly. 

“I guess you may as well come in to make your offer,” he says, stepping back and letting the door swing wide behind him. “For warning though, if it ain’t decent, I won’t be staying.”

The inside of the cabin once they get a look at it leaves something to be desired. While it appears at least structurally sound to Vazquez’s knowing eye, it’s equally obvious that Faraday hasn’t done much in the line of upkeep during his stay. The main living area is a mess, and he imagines the single room off to the side - no doubt a sleeping area - is equally cluttered.

If Faraday senses Vasquez’s opinions, however, he doesn’t comment on them. Gesturing haphazardly towards the only two chairs in the room - a pair of rickety looking things shoved up against the table - he motions for them to sit while he leans up against a wall with an aggravated huff.

“Well?” He says when they’ve taken the seats they’ve been offered. “What’re you waiting for then? Let’s hear your pitch.”

Chisolm squares his shoulders, looking as cool and collected as ever, and says calmly, “The good people of this town have offered us everything they have, the entire place’s worth if we fight for it. Right now that’s being split between six men, but there’s enough to add a seventh and still come away with quite the payout. What do you say?”

Vasquez finds himself sputtering before Faraday can answer. “What does he say?” He demands harshly, “What about what we say? I don’t recall offering to split anything with this gringo. We don’t even know if he can do anything useful!”

“Hey!” Faraday snaps, his eyes narrowing as he glares at Vasquez. “I can hold my own in a fight, muchacho. More than! You lunatics would be lucky to have me along on this fool’s errand.”

“Prove it,” Vasquez scoffs. Never mind that he’d agreed to Chisolm’s offer less because he cared about the money and more to save his own skin, he’s not agreeing to share any hard earned income with a man who’s completely unproven in anything close to a fight. If Faraday wants any of what Rose Creek is offering, he needs to contribute something to make it worth their while. 

“I am not splitting the money with him unless he actually has some skills that will help us win,” he says, turning pointedly towards Sam, “and I think you’ll find the rest will agree with me.”

Even as the words leave his mouth, he realizes they’re probably not true. Robicheaux is here because he’s Chisolm’s friend, and Rocks is here because Robicheaux is. Meanwhile, Red Harvest has apparently joined them out of some misplaced belief regarding destiny, and who knows what goes on inside Horne’s head. It’s entirely possible that to a man the money means very little to them.

On the other hand, Faraday is clearly a person with a heavy streak of pride in him, and playing on that might be just the thing to entice him to stick around. Vasquez can see the exact moment this dawns on Chisolm as well.

Leaning back in his seat, the warrant officer crosses his arms over his chest and gives their host a look of studied indifference. “Vasquez has a point, I suppose. Could be it’s a little rash of me to go offering you such a heavy payout without you proving your worth beforehand.”

Faraday visibly bristles, his fair skin reddening at Chisolm’s words. “I’m the best shot in the town, no question,” he growls. “More importantly, I don’t care if it’s another man I’m aiming at. You’ll be hard pressed to find someone else around here like that. They’re all a bunch of squeamish farmers.”

Chisolm shrugs. “I won’t deny that sounds promising, but I’m afraid it’s like my compatriot here said,” he adds, nodding at Vasquez. “Prove it.”

Faraday’s complexion darkens even further, and it’s in that moment Vasquez knows they’ve got him. Whatever else might be said about the man, it’s clear he’s not one to back down from a challenge, even one as foolhardy as what’s being presented here.

“Fine,” Faraday grits out. “I’ll play your game. You want me in on this fool’s errand then you’ve got me, but I expect to be paid. Equal shares of whatever the town’s offered you.”

“Done,” Chisolm agrees. “On the condition that you pull your weight around here, of course,” he adds with a smirk. “Now, I believe you said you could shoot? How are you at teaching others to do so?”

Faraday’s resulting expression of consternation almost sends Vasquez into a fit of hysterics.

*****

“You really think he’ll come?” Vasquez asks not long after when he and Chisolm are exiting the cabin. Faraday’s been instructed to meet their fearless leader in an hours time to help him and Robicheaux assess which of the townsfolk can fire a weapon.

“I do,” Chisolm replies with a nod. He gestures with one hand, and the two of them begin walking back towards the centre of the town. “I pride myself on being able to read folks well. Mr. Faraday included. He’ll show.”

For his part, Vasquez has his doubts. On the other hand, today he’s been tasked with helping to repair the church, so it’s not like he’ll know anytime soon whether Faraday keeps his word or not.

“I wish you luck, my friend,” he says with a shake of his head. “Both if he comes or not.”

*****

More people have decided to stay to defend the town than Vasquez has expected. He spots various men and women wandering to and fro as he begins the laborious process of putting the church back in one piece, surprised by their sheer numbers.

Then again, it’s been a long time since he’s had anywhere to call home. Maybe he’d feel differently if he considered Rose Creek to be in any way his, as opposed to a necessary stop if he wanted to keep his neck where it was.

Uncomfortable with such thoughts, he throws himself into his work, wanting to both keep busy and find a way to ignore the way the locals all seem to stare at him. Of the half a dozen men helping him in the church, only the schoolteacher speaks to him normally.

“Don’t take it personally,” the man, Josiah, tells him when a single look from Vasquez sends not one but two workers scuttling away in obvious fear. “It’s more the situation that’s got them so jumpy than anything else.”

“Hmmph,” Vasquez makes a scoffing sound low in his throat, and once more leans down over the wood he’s handling. “They could at least be less obvious about it.”

Josiah laughs, the sound surprisingly relaxed for all that he’s just as out of his depth as the rest of his people. “Fair is fair, I suppose. A fellow like you’d be a spectacle around here no matter the circumstances.”

Vasquez shoots him a suspicious look, alarmed that the man might be referring to his warrant, but all he sees is an expression of amicable good will. Whatever Josiah is getting at, criminal activity isn’t it.

“You saying you never seen a Mexican before, amigo?” He asks, deliberately thickening his accent as he does so. He thinks about adding a waggle of his eyebrows for good measure, but in the end thinks better of it.

Josiah, however, isn’t biting. “Mexicans, yes. Ones who’ve so obviously lead interesting lives, no. And it’s not just you, of course. It’s your entire company. Before you lot came along, the most eccentric character we had around here was Faraday.”

“Ah, yes,” Vasquez grumbles. “I had the pleasure of meeting that one earlier today. He is an idiot.”

“We’re all of us idiots in certain regards,” Josiah replies. “Faraday’s got his talents as well as his foibles.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the most frustrating of my remaining WIPs as it’s almost entirely finished minus one or two scenes I could never get to work. A sequel to Hail Those Left Behind wherein the seven meet Faraday’s older brothers from that story.

Vasquez wakes to a strange shuffling noise happening very close to his head. It’s vaguely familiar, something he’s positive he’s heard many times before, but he can’t for the life of him get his sleep-addled brain to focus long enough to figure it out. Grunting, he forces his eyes open to try and determine the source.

Of course, he thinks as a vision of playing cards slipping over and over through Joshua’s fingers swims blearily into view. I should have known.

“Up early, guero,” he murmurs, his voice sounding thick and groggy in his own ears. The sun’s only a faint hint on the horizon, and there’s barely enough light to see by. “Couldn’t sleep?”

The cards in his hands stilling briefly, Joshua hums an acknowledgement before starting up again. He does this whenever he wakes well ahead of the rest of them; sits and amuses himself with the tricks he’d previously made a living by. It’s the only time Vasquez tends to see him quiet outside of sleep.

On the other hand, no one else being awake means Vasquez might be able to shift Joshua’s attention to himself, at least for a little while, and that’s not an opportunity he’s about to pass up.

Joshua’s sitting upright on his bedroll with his legs crossed beneath him. As usual, his blankets are pressed right against Vasquez’s, and the distance between their bodies is virtually non-existent. Using this to his advantage, Vasquez nudges at Joshua’s closest thigh with his head.

“Ale.” Joshua says, and Vasquez feels that strange little burst of pleasure, the one he always gets at hearing his given name spoken by arguably his favourite person. “Quit trying to distract me.”

“No,” Vasquez replies simply, and nudges him again. 

He hears rather than sees the sigh above him, but there’s a quick snapping sound, like Joshua’s slid the cards all back into a single deck in one movement, and then those same clever fingers are burying themselves in Vasquez’s hair.

“Hedonist,” Joshua says, but it comes out fond, so Vasquez knows there’s no insult behind it. “Why don’t you just go back to sleep?”

“There’s no point,” Vasquez tells him, sighing happily as Joshua massages his scalp. “I’ve no doubt slept enough for one night.”

“Yeah, you were snoring awful badly,” Joshua muses thoughtfully. He manages to pull his fingers back just in time to evade Vasquez’s snapping teeth. “You keep that up, and I’m gonna stop,” he warns.

Huffing to show his annoyance, Vasquez subsides, and rests his head in Joshua’s lap, figuring that’s as clear a sign as any that he should continue. He must get his point across because that’s exactly what happens.

“We should be hitting that town later today,” Joshua remarks casually after a few minutes have passed in silence. “At least if the info we got was anything to go by.”

“Yes,” Vasquez agrees, pleased by this thought. They’re in between jobs at the moment, and have spent the last couple weeks sleeping rough. Some time spent in actual civilization will be nice. “I’m looking forward to sleeping in a real bed.”

“You ain’t the only one,” Joshua replies. “A little down time sounds like just the ticket right about now. Some decent food, a bath, a bed like you’re talking about ... I’m all for it.”

“Mhm, Sam says we’re going to to stay there for longer than usual,” Vasquez points out, closing his eyes to picture this. “Maybe as long as a week. He says he thinks we all need a chance to relax and unwind.”

Joshua chuckles above him. “I was there, darlin’,” he says fondly. “I heard him as plain as you.”

“Yes, well,” opening his eyes, Vasquez shifts around until he’s on his stomach, and then does his best to climb over Joshua, shoving at him until he gets the hint and moves to lie flat. “You don’t always listen so good, you know.”

“No?” Joshua asks. He smiles crookedly as he adjusts himself into a more comfortable position, getting his hands behind his head to help prop himself up. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me now?”

Vasquez waggles his eyebrows playfully before ducking down for a kiss. “We’re the only ones awake,” he murmurs, barely an inch away from Joshua’s face. “Might as well make use of that, don’t you think?”

“I think,” Joshua replies slowly, “that there’s no way we’ll stay quiet enough to keep the others as they are, not with what you’re hinting at. On the other hand, reckon I’m not opposed to a little neckin’ before breakfast.”

Snorting, Vasquez leans in to kiss him again.

*****

Real morning comes soon enough, and with it the waking of their fellows. In short order their camp becomes a spot teeming with life, and Vasquez finds himself tasked with helping to gather wood for the cooking fire, while Joshua joins Red to see to the horses. Soon enough everyone is fed, packed, and ready to go.

The town they’re moving towards isn’t far away, only about a half-day’s ride. They hit its outskirts in the early afternoon, and a faded sign, its paint flaking in more than one spot, welcomes them to Lacetown.

“The hell kind of name is that for a place?” Joshua wonders as they lope past the sign at an easy gait. “You think these folks are known for their knitting?”

Vasquez can’t help but snort, even though it’s a poor joke, and off to his left, slightly behind him, Goody starts up a conversation about the various ways to produce lace; speculating on the virtues of one method over another.

“That’s your fault,” Vasquez decides, grinning at Joshua’s pained groan. “Now we are all in for a lecture.”

Joshua shrugs affably, reclining back in his saddle as they slowly meander into the depths of the town. He keeps up that position as they come upon a building advertising itself as an inn, only dismounting after the rest of them have already done so.

“Doesn’t look like much,” he remarks casually, ignoring the dirty look Sam shoots him in response.

“Maybe not,” Sam tells him, “but it’s likely to be our resting spot for at least the next few days, so you might want to watch what you say. Especially if any of the locals are within earshot.”

Having said his piece, Sam shuffles to the front of the group, and then proceeds to lead them inside with a slight jerk of his head. He doesn’t bother to look back to check if they’re falling into step behind him.

As is common when they arrive in a new place, conversation slows to a crawl when they walk in. A handful of people are clustered around various tables, making their way through meals, and most of them openly gape at the band now in their midst. Red and Billy draw the most blatant stares, but not a man among them goes without being gawked at by at least one person.

Vasquez can feel Joshua twitch next to him, shifting the way he does when he’s not sure if he’s about to get in a fight. He almost reaches out to hold the other man back, but this turns out not to be necessary when a woman makes her way out from behind the counter, a pleasant if somewhat wary smile on her face. 

“Afternoon,” she says politely, nodding at Sam as their unspoken leader. “What can I get for you boys?”

Sam answers her easily, with Goody throwing in his own two cents, and it’s not long before they’re seated around a table with the woman having bustled off again in search of food and drink.

“Sounds like she and her husband run this establishment,” Sam says after she’s gone and the rest of the patrons have stopped staring at them quite so blatantly. “Once everyone’s got some food in their stomachs we can see about settling up for some rooms as well.”

Apparently having forgotten his earlier issues with the state of the inn, Joshua rubs his hands together in anticipation. “Sounds good to me,” he declares, grinning sharply. “I’m looking forward to putting a bed to good use.”

“Faraday.” Sam makes a pained face at the truly terrible joke, shooting Vasquez a look bordering on the apologetic. “Do you have to?”

“You know he does, Sam,” Goody says, as usual speaking up before anyone else can. “If he tried to keep all that foolishness locked away inside, he’d probably explode.”

“Oh come on now,” looking ready to defend himself, Joshua sits up straighter in his seat, and is about to say something further when the innkeeper’s wife suddenly cuts in out of nowhere.

Having just returned with an armful of plates, she sets the load down, and points a finger at Joshua. “I knew it,” she says, sounding smug. “I said to my husband - with those eyes and that colouring, he’s got to be a Faraday, there’s no question. You related to Andrew and Daniel, son?”

Joshua freezes, whatever joke he’d been about to make dying on his lips as he stares at the woman with wide eyes. “Sorry,” he says faintly. “What did you say?”

She gives him a patient smile. “Andrew and Daniel Faraday,” she repeats. “Pair of brothers who own the livery stables up the road. Given the name and the looks, you must be related to them, no?”

“I -“ Joshua says, and he startles Vasquez half to death by reaching for him under the table. He never does that, is the thing, hardly ever when it’s just the seven of them, and not at all when they’re in public. Without thinking twice, Vasquez squeezes back. “Brothers,” he says weakly. “We’re all brothers.”

“Didn’t realize there were three of you,” the woman replies. “Everyone around here always thought it was only the two of ‘em. I imagine you’re staying a while for a visit?”

The last sentence is clearly meant to be a question, and Vasquez now curses the concept of nosy townsfolk for an entirely different reason. Whatever Joshua may or may not want to do, his brothers are going to find out he’s here, even if it’s not him who announces his presence.

Luckily, Goody’s always been skilled at using words as a distraction, and he steps in now while Joshua is still reeling at the unexpected news. Expertly deflecting the woman’s attention onto himself, he chats with her while she lays out the food-laden plates, keeping her engrossed enough that she’s forgotten anything else by the time she’s done.

Silence descends upon the table as soon as she leaves, and Joshua stares fixedly at his plate, eating mechanically. The quiet holds an anticipatory air, but it’s like no one wants to risk breaking it by being the first to speak.

One thing of note is that, even though he shifts his hand away from Vasquez’s to eat, he keeps their legs pressed together, like he needs the contact to stay grounded. Vasquez takes no issue with this, and when Joshua pushes away from the table with his meal only half eaten, he doesn’t think twice about following suit.

“I’ve got it,” he says, standing up out of his chair while Joshua crosses to the front doors of the inn, and ducks out onto the street. “I’m the best choice to go after him.”

“I don’t think anyone here was going to say otherwise,” Sam replies grimly. Neither he nor the other four know the full extent of Joshua’s history, but they know enough to figure this could get messy. “Holler if you need us.”

Vasquez gives him a tight smile, before heading after Joshua. He finds him thankfully still close at hand, standing at the railing where they’d all posted their horses, petting Jack’s flank.

“I still need to get him to the stables,” he says, nodding at Jack when Vasquez approaches. “How’s that for an ironic situation?”

“One of us can take him,” Vasquez offers. “He’ll behave well enough to come with me, or maybe Red.” 

“Nah,” Joshua drawls. Vasquez suspects he’s aiming to appear nonchalant, but if that’s the case he misses by a mile. “You heard that woman. She had me pegged from the get-go, which likely means the rest of the town will too. May as well face the music now.”

“Alright,” Vasquez says. He doesn’t like it, but he can see the logic in Joshua’s words. “Let’s go then.”

Joshua jerks his head up, blinking owlishly at Vasquez, and startling Jack in the process. “What?” He asks, shifting out of the way when the horse stamps a foot nervously. “Why would you come? You want to put your lady away too?” He asks, nodding at Vasquez’s mount.

Vasquez pats Ciela’s side when she flicks her tail at him, but keeps his eyes locked pointedly on Joshua. “I’m coming with you so you don’t have to go by yourself,” he says, and the word ‘idiot’ is heavily implied in the sentence. 

“Don’t try and stop me,” he continues, speaking over Joshua when he opens his mouth to no doubt do just that. “Either we both go, or neither of us does.”

Joshua still looks like he’s going to protest, but Vasquez stands firm, and eventually he deflates in the wake of his unmoving expression. “Fine,” he grunts, and Vasquez doesn’t miss the way his cheeks are tinting. “I guess if you really want you can come along.”

“Gracias,” Vasquez says. Then he points up the Main Street. “I think the woman said the stables are this way.”

They amble slowly up the street, neither of them in a particular hurry. Both their horses, including Jack in all his temperamental glory, seem to pick up on this as well because neither animal does anything but plod placidly along at the end of the reins.

“That must be it,” Joshua says when they approach a large structure. There’s no sign readily viewable from the angle they’re at, but the sound of horses can be heard from around the back, essentially giving the game away.

“Did you want to wait here, and I’ll go find someone?” Vasquez asks. He means for the question to be innocent, but the glare Joshua cuts his way makes it clear he doesn’t succeed. 

“Pretty sure you told me either we both go or neither of us does.” Clicking his tongue to urge Jack forward, Joshua starts moving to where the paddocks must be located, his stress noticeable only in the tense line of his shoulders that most people wouldn’t know him well enough to pick up on.

Vasquez, however, does know him well enough, which is why he’s not surprised when they round a corner, and Joshua comes to an abrupt halt. There’s man standing not far away, filling up a water trough. The muscles of his arms stretch as he lifts a heavy, loaded pail, and the afternoon sunlight glints off his auburn hair when he bends over to dump it.

“Which one?” He asks softly. There’s no doubt in his mind that this is one of Joshua’s brothers, the resemblance is too obvious, but he’s never laid eyes on either of them, so he doesn’t know who’s who.

“Andrew,” Joshua says just as a uietly. “That’s Andrew.”

The older one then, the one whose idea it had been to leave Joshua with a farmer who cared nothing for him because he was too much of a burden to look after. Against his will, Vasquez finds his fingers itching to reach for his gun.

As if he can sense this, Joshua shakes himself out of his stupor, and once again strides forward, tugging Jack along behind him. Rather than call out a greeting, though, he whistle’s sharply to get his brother’s attention.

Andrew’s annoyed grunt is obvious even from a distance, and his features are arranging themselves in a scowl when he catches sight of Joshua and his entire face promptly goes slack. “Josh,” he breathes, eyes widening. “That you kid?”

Joshua shrugs in answer. “We’re in town for a job,” he says awkwardly, gesturing back and forth between Vasquez and himself with Jack’s reigns. “A woman up at the inn told us this is where the stables are.”

“That’d be Sadie Guthro,” Andrew says, straightening out of the awkward crouch he’s paused in. “And she’s right, sure enough. You looking to board the pair of them?”

“For starters,” Joshua replies, apparently content to avoid the elephant in the room that is this unexpected reunion by talking business. “There’ll be five more come down before the day is out.”

“We can handle that, no problem. You can bring ‘em around this way, and - Jesus!” Unthinkingly having reached towards Jack, Andrew ducks back several feet when the horse kicks out at him furiously. “In a bit of a mood, is he?”

“Sorry,” Joshua says quickly, patting at the side of Jack’s face to soothe him as he pulls the horse back to prevent him from caving his brother’s head in. “Probably should have warned you, Jack here’s got something of a damnable temper.”

“I can see that,” Andrew mutters, and Vasquez feels a smug little thrill surge through him when he purposefully stays well out of reach. “Will he be okay to keep with other horses, or should we put him off by himself? We’ve got a couple of smaller set ups just for that.”

Joshua casts a glance over at Vasquez like he’s wondering what his opinion is. When all Vasquez can do is shrug, he sighs. “The smaller pen is probably a better idea. I don’t much feel like paying for the damage if he destroys something or someone.”

Vasquez can’t help but snicker. “I thought you said he was a perfect angel, guero,” he says, laughing harder when Joshua shoots him a glare. “Don’t tell me you were lying.”

“Shut up, Ale,” Joshua replies, sounding like himself for the first time in over an hour. “Nobody asked for your opinion.”

“Who’s your friend, Josh?” Andrew asks now, tilting his head towards Vasquez. “You travelling as part of a crew these days?”

“Wha - oh. Yeah.” Sobering up as quickly as he’d settled, Joshua twitches a shoulder towards Vasquez. “Ale, Andrew. Andrew, Ale.”

“That’s a different name,” Andrew says glibly.

Vasquez gets the sense that he’s trying to keep things from turning awkward, but he’s got no interest in going easy on the man. As such, he offers him a smile with far too much teeth. “It’s my name.”

“...Right,” Andrew says. “You, uh, Mexican, or something similar?”

“Yeah, he’s a mouthy ol’ vaquero,” Joshua says, stepping in before Vasquez can decide on a proper cutting response. “We’ve been working together for over a year now.”

Andrew smiles brightly, but his poker face is nowhere near as good as his youngest brother’s, so Vasquez sees right through it. “You’ll have to tell us all about what you’ve been up to lately. Uh, Daniel’s here too. Somewhere. He might be over at the general store at the moment.”

“We heard,” Vasquez says snidely, deciding to clear that up so Joshua doesn’t have to. “The lady at the inn recognized you all as being related. She warned us you were here, I mean told.”

“Sorry,” he adds with a wicked smile when Andrew flinches at his very deliberate choice of words. “My English isn’t always so good.”

“What’re you channeling Red now?” Joshua hisses. Andrew’s turned away after giving them both a weak grin, and Joshua pitches his voice low enough not to be overheard. “Knock it off, jackass. The man’s not an idiot.”

Vasquez has his doubts as to the veracity of that statement, but he’ll leave it be for now. Offering Joshua an apologetic smile, he falls silent and stays that way as he gets Ciela sorted away in the main paddock, and then helps get Jack dealt with.

“I assume you boys are staying down at the Guthro’s inn?” Andrew asks once they’re finally finished. “Sadie and Jacob keep that place set up real nice.”

Joshua shrugs, looking even more awkward now that he no longer has Jack’s reins to fidget with. “We spend a lot of time on the trail,” he says. “Any place where we can put a roof over our heads is pretty much a luxury.”

“Right, of course. I remember those days.” Andrew says, and his face flushes at the same time Joshua’s goes pale. “I mean.”

Knowing full well he’s going to say or do something he shouldn’t if they don’t get out of here, Vasquez makes a show of grabbing Joshua’s attention. “Guero,” he says quickly, “we need to see about getting rooms. Sam will be looking for us.”

Joshua shoots him a look that says he knows full well Sam will be doing no such thing, but the expression fades almost as fast as it appears. “‘Course,” he grunts roughly. “We should get on that.”

Nodding stiffly at his brother, he gestures at Vasquez with on arm. “Sorry to cut the visit short, but this one’s got a point. We’ve got things to do.”

“Sure,” Andrew says. And then. “Will you be in town long?”

“No idea,” Joshua says, which is a relief to Vasquez who had just been about to offer up something similar. “That’ll be up to the boss. You’ll see him soon enough, I’m sure. Fella by the name of Sam Chisolm. He’ll be down to see to his own horse, no doubt.”

He’s babbling, Vasquez realizes with a wince. Words are spilling out of him just for the sake of having something to do, which means it truly is time to leave. A babbling Joshua is one who’s bound to put his foot in his mouth, or to cause someone else to do it for him.

Not caring how it looks, Vasquez gets a hand around his elbow, and physically turns him back the way they’d come. Giving Andrew a curt nod that probably conveys his dislike, he nudges Joshua along ahead of him, and refuses to look back.

*****

Usually on nights when they find themselves in a town, they take advantage of the privacy afforded by private rooms and closed doors; taking their time in a way that just isn’t possible in an open campsite with five companions so close by. Tonight, however, Vasquez takes one look at Joshua, and knows that’s not a good idea. 

Stripping down to his underclothes perfunctorily, he climbs beneath the covers of the bed they’ve claimed as their own, patting the mattress firmly. “Come here, cariño,” he says in a voice that he hopes leaves no room for argument. “Come see me.”

“I can see you just fine,” Joshua grunts, though Vasquez finds it telling that he begins to undress with no further prompting. “That gat may have done a number on some parts of me, but my eyes weren’t among them.”

Rolling his own eyes, Vasquez gives the mattress another smack. “Joshua,” he says flatly. “Here. Now.”

“You’re just gonna fuss,” Joshua complains, even as he does as he’s told. “You know I hate it when you try and make me talk about feelings.”

“I’m not going to make you talk about anything,” Vasquez replies. He waits until the other man is finally under the blankets, and then shoves at him to get him where he wants him, forcing Joshua onto his side so that he can curl up behind him. “Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t.” Joshua probably means for the two words to sound assertive, but mainly he just sounds lost, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“Then we don’t talk,” Vasquez promises. He thinks that’s the wrong idea, of course, but he knows Joshua well enough to understand that pressing him would be worse. Instead, he wraps an arm around the man’s midsection, and brushes a kiss to his bare shoulder. “We’ll just sleep.”

Joshua’s quiet for long enough that Vasquez is starting to think he might actually wait him out. That is until he opens his mouth, and says softly, “I thought they were dead.”

Vasquez reflexively tightens his hold. “I know,” he says, his own voice equally hushed. “You told me.”

“Right.” Joshua laughs weakly, but there’s no humour in it. “I guess my memory’s going. Must be getting old.”

“That could be it,” Vasquez agrees. Nuzzling at the side of Joshua’s face, he leans up slightly to press a kiss to his temple. “What do you want to do about this?”

“I don’t have a fucking clue,” Joshua replies. “Is that strange?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Vasquez replies. He considers the situation, and finds himself shaking his head in the darkened room. “I don’t think I would either if I were in your position.”

“Mm.” Joshua shifts then, forcing Vasquez to rearrange himself so that he’s lying on his back with the other man resting on top of him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to them.”

“Who says you have to say anything?” Vasquez wants to know. He curls his arms around Joshua’s waist, idly tracing the fingers of one hand along his spine. “Me, I don’t think they’re worth your time.”

He feels it when Joshua huffs a faint laugh into the crook of his neck. “Why am I not surprised? You’ve already made your opinion on the subject mighty clear, darlin’.”

Vasquez supposes that’s true. It’d taken him some time to coax the whole, sordid story from his lover after that fateful night in a room similar to this once. By the time he’d finally understood the underlying details of what had caused Joshua’s behaviour at the time, he’d had nothing kind to say about the people he saw as the root cause of the problem.

“They abandoned you,” honesty compels him to admit. “It would be one thing if they hadn’t survived their attempts to find work, but now we know they had no excuse.”

“We don’t know that,” Joshua disagrees. “We don’t know why they didn’t come back. Maybe they had a good reason.”

As far as Vasquez is concerned, there can be no good reasons for something like this, but it’d be cruel to suggest otherwise when Joshua obviously wants to comfort himself with the thought. Instead, he shrugs. “Whatever the issue, you can say what you like to them now.”

“I’m not sure I want to talk to them period,” Joshua replies.

“That is also fine,” Vasquez is quick to assure him. It’s obvious that Joshua’s thoughts are a jumbled mess at the moment, and Vasquez sees no reason to cause him further distress. “You can deal with this however you see fit.”

“Yeah,” Joshua says dubiously. “Thanks.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Carding his fingers through Joshua’s hair, Vasquez scratches at his scalp, and then kisses the crown of his head. “Te amo, guerito.”

Joshua understands what those words mean by now, and he can’t quite hide the happy little sigh he tries to muffle into Vasquez’s skin. “Yeah. I know.”

*****

“They want me to have supper with ‘em,” Joshua tells him two days later. “Andrew caught me in the general store this morning and invited me. Apparently they share the space up top of the business, and they want me to come by.”

Vasquez eyes him for a long moment from where he’s sitting, and then kicks a small spray of water at him. “You deliberately waited to tell me this until I was in the bath, didn’t you?”

Grinning crookedly at him from where he’s seated at their room’s tiny table, well out of reach of the water, Joshua shrugs. “It might’ve played a role in my timing, sure.”

Vasquez snorts derisively, but makes no move to get up from where he’s sitting. Instead, he leans back in his seat, and props his arms on each side of the tub. “Do they want you to go alone?”

“They certainly didn’t make any noise about extending an invite to anyone else,” Joshua replies flatly. “I imagine that means it’s just me they’re asking for.”

“Then you’re not going,” Vasquez says, his voice equally flat. “Absolutely not.”

“Excuse me?” Joshua’s eyebrows momentarily shoot up in surprise, but his face quickly morphs into a scowl when he realizes Vasquez is serious. “You’re not my keeper, Ale. I get that you don’t like the idea, but you don’t get to decide how I handle it.”

“I - yes, of course,” Vasquez says contritely. He’d known the words were poorly chosen the second they’d left his mouth, but they’d been spurred on by his fears of just how badly Joshua could get hurt by going to his brothers without anyone watching his back.

He gears up himself to try and explain as much, but one look in Joshua’s eye tells him he already understands the issue. “Lo siento, querido,” he mutters, sagging down further in the bath. He hopes Joshua will attribute the sudden redness of his cheeks to the heat of the water, but doubts he’ll be so lucky. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Joshua says kindly, or at least kindly for him. When it gets down to it, he’s still a stubborn, bullheaded man who doesn’t like giving up ground, no matter who to. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m going.”

Of course he is, Vasquez fights the urge to groan. He never would have bothered bringing the matter up if that weren’t the case. The foolish man is going to walk into the lion’s den, all because he can’t help himself. 

Knowing better than to try and change his mind, Vasquez settles for making his fall back position clear. “If they don’t behave ...,” he starts ominously. “I’ve got two pistols, and already have a warrant on my head. Adding another one won’t make any difference.”

“You are not shooting my brothers,” Joshua replies darkly. “I’m not having you get into more trouble thanks to the likes of them.”

As far as Vasquez is concerned, it’s telling that Joshua is more worried about the repercussions murdering his relatives would have on him, then on the dead men. However, he wisely decides to keep these thoughts to himself, and settles instead for returning to his bath.

“All I ask is that you let me know before you go over. I want to have my guns ready just in case.”

*****

Knowing full well he’ll get lost in his own head if he stays here alone while Joshua’s off sharing a meal with his brothers, Vasquez decides to take himself to the saloon at the same time his partner vacates their room. “You’ll come find me when you’re done?” He asks as they tromp down the stairs side by side.

Joshua cuts him a quick glance, but doesn’t stop moving. “I ain’t planning to bunk with them for the night,” he says somewhat sarcastically. “I figure that means I’ll be seeing you again at some point.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, guero,” Vasquez says. Although, since he himself can’t articulate what he did mean, he supposes that doesn’t make much sense. “Do me a favour and don’t overstay your welcome.”

Rather than take offence to Vasquez’s fretting, Joshua snickers. “I haven’t got a clue as to why you think I’d do something like that,” he says, grinning widely. “I always mind my manners.”

“You don’t even have manners,” Vasquez deadpans. “Normally such a thing wouldn’t bother me, but I suspect your brothers are just as bad, if not worse. It’s them I’m worried about.”

Having reached the bottom of the stairs, Joshua bumps their shoulders together, flashing yet another grin. “Andrew and Daniel obviously haven’t been living rough for years. I can take ‘em if need be.”

Vasquez scowls, his good humour forgotten in the face of the reminder of the much easier lifestyle the elder Faradays have enjoyed in recent times. “Pendejos,” he grunts, fighting a sudden urge to spit as they exit the saloon. “Lucharía con los dos si me dejaras.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion whatever you just said wasn’t very nice,” Joshua says primly. “Care to translate?”

“No,” Vasquez mutters. “But I’ll show you depending on how tonight goes.”

Joshua hums thoughtfully. “You know,” he says as they move down the street towards the spot where they’ll have to part ways, “I really don’t understand how you managed to fool the boys into thinking you’re the responsible one. You’re as wild and temperamental as anyone.”

“Maybe, but these days I save that for those who deserve it,” Vasquez replies. 

“Mhm.” They’ve reached the location of the saloon, meaning it’s time for Vasquez to peel off and let Joshua go about his business. “I’ll come find you later,” he promises, returning back to Vasquez’s original question. “Hopefully you can figure out something to amuse yourself with until then.”

Vasquez watches him as he lopes off down the street, wishing not for the first time that he had some way to invite himself along. He’s not going to be so lucky, however, which is why he slowly climbs the saloon’s front steps to head inside. 

He spots Jack, Goodnight, and Billy sitting at a table in the far corner of the room, and immediately heads for them. A quick glance towards the front of the bar reveals that Sam, and surprisingly Red, are placing an order, meaning the whole crew is here.

“We were wondering when you’d show up,” Goodnight says as he pulls out a chair and drops into it. “Joshua’s gone and accepted that supper invite then, has he?”

Vasquez looks up in surprise. “He told you?”

Next to Goodnight, Billy lights a cigarette and hands it to his partner. “He told Red,” the smaller man says. “Goody happened to overhear.”

And then tell everybody else, he implies; the words as obvious as if he’d spoken them aloud. That explains why all five of the others have been waiting for him. He’d been expecting to find a few of them, but not the whole set.

Still, he decides as Red and Sam wander over with drinks in hand, perhaps it’s for the best. He’d come here in search of a distraction, after all, and he can’t think of one better.

Jack glances around the table once everyone’s sitting down. “Anyone fancy a game of cards?”

*****

Several hours pass before Joshua reappears again, and much to Vasquez’s chagrin, he’s not alone when he does so. He arrives at the saloon flanked by Andrew on his left, and a man who continued family resemblance says must be Daniel on his right.

“Oh now this should be interesting,” Billy mutters low under his breath, and across from him Red grunts in agreement. “Should we take bets on Vasquez shooting them now or later?”

Vasquez sniffs outwardly, although inwardly he’s already seething with rage. “I’m under strict instructions to behave myself,” he announces, wishing that were very much not the case. “So that is what I will do.”

*****

"I still don't get what you're so angry about," Joshua says easily, shrugging when Vasquez turns to look at him in surprise. "It's not like it's much of a shock, you know? I always figured they were either dead or hurt badly enough they couldn’t come back. This is better."

Vasquez stares at him. "Que? How is this better, carino?" He demands, shaking his head in disbelief. "That pair of hijo de putas abandoned you, knowing full well what would happen, and you are fine with it? How?"

Joshua shrugs again, this time following it up by rubbing an errant hand over the back of his neck. "I mean," he starts slowly, clearly unsure of how to phrase what he wants to say. "When you think about it, what does it really matter? I made out okay, and in the end I'd rather they be alive than not."

"Then you are being too kind to them." Vasquez snorts a harsh breath out his nose, wishing not for the first time since they arrived in Lacetown that he could march over to the stables and put a matching set of bullets between Andrew and Daniel's eyes. To hell with the consequences.

"They left you alone," he growls, still not quite managing to get to the main cause of why he's so angry, but at least getting closer. "They made no move to come find you once they'd established themselves. Just decided you would be fine on your own at twelve."

"And I was," Joshua replies, somehow actually sounding like he believes this. Oh but Vasquez despairs of him sometimes.

"No, mijo," Vasquez says tiredly, "you were anything but." Stepping forward, he curls his arms around Joshua’s waist, determined to foist affection on him whether he wants it or not. "Somedays I worry you still think we will abandon you for no reason, and for that I blame them."

Squirming briefly in Vasquez's hold, Joshua eventually sighs and lets himself be coddled, at least a bit. "I know that ain't gonna happen," he says plaintively, "you lot have rammed that into my head enough that I reckon it's stuck."

"Has it?" Vasquez asks, pressing a kiss to Joshua’s stubbled jaw. "Because I am not so sure."

"Hey, you're the one getting all in a twist because my brothers have popped out of the woodwork," Joshua reminds him. "Right now, I think I'm the only one who's been halfway civil to 'em."

"They deserve that from you least of all," Vasquez mutters darkly, jumping a little when Joshua gives his hip a scolding pinch. "What?"

Green eyes roll pointedly. "Let it go, Ale," Joshua tells him. "I don't want anyone kicking up a fuss over this. We'll be out of town soon enough, so I can go my way, and Andrew and Daniel can go theirs. That's all there is to it."

Vasquez has no idea how Joshua can be so calm given the circumstances, but he knows better than to push. Doing so is as likely to make the other man shut down as it is to accomplish anything worthwhile. Grumbling, he resolves to try his best to behave himself throughout the remainder of their stay.

Although, he thinks darkly, if either of the elder Faradays start something then all bets are off.

*****

"You don't like us much, do you?"

Glancing up from the lunch he'd been steadily making inroads through, Vasquez finds Daniel Faraday standing over him, and scowls, fighting back a further urge to bare his teeth. "Not exactly, cabron," he replies. "I don't like you at all."

Rather than take Vasquez's words as an obvious sign to make himself scarce, Daniel has the audacity to sit down directly across from him at the table. "I know," he agrees, "none of your crew does it seems, but you're worse. Why?"

"None of your business," Vasquez growls, focusing once again on his meal. He should have known better than to start before anyone else had joined him. This must be the thanks he gets for being impatient.

Daniel snorts, both looking and sounding remarkably like Joshua in the process. It's unsettling. "The hell it isn't," he states. "We're talking about my little brother here, which makes it my business."

That makes Vasquez look up, and his expression must be something to behold if the way Daniel flinches is anything to go by. "You and the other one gave up any rights such as that the moment you abandoned him," he snarls. "Do not presume otherwise, especially not with me."

"So you know then," Daniel says quietly, and the urge to hit him ratchets up tenfold. "We didn't have any choice," he protests when Vasquez nods sharply. "He was too young for us to look for work and bring with us at the same time."

"One of you could have stayed behind while the other went off," Vasquez counters. "Or if nothing else you could have sent for him once you were established. Instead, you just pretended he didn't exist. Left him alone to fend for himself somewhere you knew he wasn't wanted. Don't lie to me," he adds when Daniel opens his mouth to speak. "Unlike the others, I know the full story."

"Why?" Daniel demands. "What's so special about you that Josh would tell you everything?"

"He doesn't like being called Josh," Vasquez snaps, wondering not for the first time how this idiot had missed that. "Stop doing it."

"You do it," Daniel shoots back. "I've heard you, and the rest of your crew for that matter."

"We call him Joshua, not Josh," Vasquez replies, "and only when he allows. It's different for us, though. We're his family.”

His expression darkening, Daniel rests his hands on the table top, his fingers clenching in a way that suggests he's only barely holding onto his temper. "You have got some nerve," he starts slowly, and Vasquez cuts him off because if he doesn't he's going to wind up shooting the bastard.

He'd be fine with that, but it'd probably make Joshua angry with him.

"It's not nerve, idiota, it's right. Right that you gave up when you dumped him on a farmer who was only interested in him for the amount of use he could be. He's ours now. Comprende?"

For some reason, that makes Daniel smile. "Only if that's what he wants," he says cryptically, and Vasquez feels something unpleasant stir in the pit of his stomach.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He asks, but Daniel merely shakes his head and mimes sealing his lips shut - a move that makes Vasquez reevaluate his earlier decision not to start a fight.

"Cabron, if you think I will let you twist him up like you did the last time," he begins, getting abruptly cut off by a heavy hand landing on the back of his neck.

"Everything alright here, fellas?" A familiar voice asks, and when Vasquez turns around, he finds Joshua staring down at him with an unreadable expression. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

It's on the tip of Vasquez's tongue to inform him that, as a matter of fact, he is interrupting something, but one look at Joshua's face is enough to convince him not to go there. Even he knows there are some battles he can't win.

"No, nene," he says instead. "We're fine."

"Good," Joshua says, his mouth curving up into a smile. Then he tears his gaze away from Vasquez, and locks eyes with his brother. "I take it you agree?"

Possibly because he's caught up staring at the way Joshua's hand is still curved over Vasquez's neck, Daniel doesn't answer immediately. It's only after Joshua clears his throat heavily that he snaps back into the here and now.

"Yeah," he says slowly, still looking like a man wrestling with a particularly difficult puzzle. "All good, Josh."

The growl Vasquez lets out is purely accidental, he swears, and in no way deserves having Joshua's hand tighten briefly in warning before once again relaxing.

"Glad to hear it," Joshua says after he's loosened his grip. "What're you two talking about then?"

"Nothing important," Daniel replies, while Vasquez is still contemplating if he wants to say anything. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the table, and tilts his head to one side. "Did Andrew talk to you?"

"He did," Joshua says, and his words come out easily, but his hold on Vasquez suddenly intensifies, as if expecting him to get worked up. 

"And?" Daniel asks.

"Told him thanks but no thanks," Joshua says firmly. 

"No thanks for what?" Vasquez asks before he can stop himself, and this time when Joshua squeezes his neck, he can tell it's meant to be comforting as opposed to a reprimand.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Joshua begins, but his words wind up overlapping with those of his brother, who cuts in with an unimpressed look adorning his features.

"Really, Josh?" He asks skeptically, while Vasquez very seriously considers shooting him under the table, "You're gonna pass an offer like this up?"

"I am," Joshua replies, and there isn't a hint of uncertainty in his tone, something Daniel must be able to tell based on the way his face falls slightly. "Maybe if you'd bothered to make it years ago, I might've been interested, but these days not so much."

"Right," Daniel says stiffly. For the first time in this conversation, Vasquez almost feels sorry for him. "I suppose that's ... fair."

Joshua makes a noncommittal humming sound, and that's apparently the end of the brothers' conversation. Daniel stutters out a quick goodbye, climbing swiftly out of his seat and heading away from the table without another word.

Vasquez watches him go until he slips through the swinging doors at the front entrance. Only once Daniel's gone does he reclaim his fork to start back in on his lunch.

"They ask you to stay?" He asks quietly as Joshua drops down into the chair his brother has just vacated, pulling out his trusty deck of cards to fiddle with at the same time.

"Mhm," Joshua replies, fingers blurring as he starts shuffling the deck. "Offered me equal shares in the business. Andrew said we'd make it the Brothers Faraday for real."

Vasquez considers this thoughtfully. "And you said no?" He asks around a mouthful of roll.

As always, Joshua makes a face at his eating habits, but the expression smoothes away almost as quickly as it comes. "I said no," he confirms. "Should I not have?"

"Only if you want me kicking your ass for agreeing to something so stupid," Vasquez replies. "And not just me for that matter. I'm sure the others would also join in."

Joshua flashes him a quick grin that soon melts into a shy smile, brushing his foot up against Vasquez's under the table at the same time. "I don't want to stay here," he says firmly, "and I especially don't want to stay here with them."

"Good," Vasquez says. "They don't deserve you."

"No," Joshua agrees, and Vasquez can tell this is the last he'll say on the matter. "They don't."

*****

Vasquez tags along when Joshua goes to reclaim Jack from his brothers' stables the morning they're set to ride out. It's not that he thinks Joshua will change his mind and decide to stay. He just doesn't want the other man to have to deal with the two men on his own.

Jack's all alone in the paddock when they approach, and there's a certain air to the way he's carrying himself which suggests he's looking for a fight. However, he whickers softly when he spots Joshua, trotting over almost lazily to bump his nose against his rider's shoulder once he's in reach.

"Hey, handsome," Joshua says, looking pleased as can be by the horse's attention. "Have you been behaving yourself while I was gone?"

Given that he's once again been sequestered away on his own, Vasquez is figuring no, but he knows better than to say such a thing. Joshua is incredibly fond of his mad horse, and he reacts poorly to slights against Jack's honour.

The sound of footsteps rings out behind them, and when Vasquez turns it's to find both Andrew and Daniel crossing towards them. He makes an unimpressed noise under his breath without meaning to, pleased when Jack echoes a similar sentiment.

From his spot near the paddock fence, Joshua rolls his eyes. "Behave, the pair of you."

“I will if they will,” Vasquez mutters, and Jack snorts as if to say the same thing.

Any warning Joshua might have made then dies on his lips as his brothers come within hearing distance. He does shoot Vasquez a look, however, one that makes it clear he should mind his manners.

“So, this is it then,” Daniel says awkwardly. At Joshua’s nod, he makes a face. “You sure we can’t convince you to change your mind?”

A low growl sounds out, one that Vasquez realizes is emanating from him when Joshua stretches out and kicks him lightly in the shin. “I’m sure,” Joshua says firmly, holding Vasquez’s gaze as he says it. Then he shifts to look at the other two. “I’ve got my own life, thanks.”

Andrew gives him a shrewd look. “You can’t roam forever, Josh. You’ve got to settle at some point.”

“Maybe,” Joshua agrees, and Vasquez scowls when he once again ignores them shortening his name to the diminutive he doesn’t care for. “I’m not so sure of that, though, or that it’s here I’d want to settle for that matter. Reckon if I end up calling any town home it’ll be Rose Creek.”

That’s news to Vasquez, but he does his best to school his expression into one that gives nothing away. Unless it’s displeasure. He’s absolutely fine with Andrew and Daniel knowing he doesn’t care for them.

“Home’s where your family is,” Andrew says now, which is such a ludicrous statement to come out of his mouth, Vasquez is surprised he’s not struck down on the spot. The nerve of the man is something bordering on absurd.

Joshua smiles in response. It looks pleasant enough, but it’s also one Vasquez knows well. It’s the same expression he sees right before Joshua dives headfirst into trouble, usually by sucker punching someone. “Yes.” He says flatly. “It is.”

Vasquez cocks his head to the side, impressed that Joshua - who’s been unusually calm where his brothers are concerned during their stay - would voice something so cutting. Impressed that is, and frankly surprised.

And while he’s surprised, Andrew and Daniel appear to be some mix of either angry or embarrassed. All three Faraday’s share the same fair complexion that sees them flush red when out of sorts, something both the elder boys are doing now.

“Josh -“ Daniel starts, but Joshua cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“Save it,” he says. “You’re either about to yell or apologize, and I’m not overly interested. How much do I owe you for your work?”

“Nothing,” Andrew says, surprising everyone, including Daniel if the look on his face is anything to go by. “Consider it, well, consider it whatever you want. We’re not taking your money.”

Joshua looks skeptical, something Vasquez imagines his own face is no doubt mirroring, but it’s obvious he’s not about to press the issue. “Alright,” he says finally. “Thanks. I guess I’ll just grab Jack’s gear and we’ll be off.”

“It’s around back,” Daniel says stiffly. “I’ll help you get it.”

He turns without saying anything further, clearly expecting Joshua to follow, which he does, sauntering casually off, and leaving Vasquez alone in Andrew’s presence. 

The eldest Faraday is quiet while the younger two move off. He watches as Vasquez leans casually back against the fence posts, kicking idly at a tuft of grass.

“Not sure I’d be so comfortable so close to that crazy animal,” he says finally, nodding at Vasquez’s position. “Took both Daniel and me to keep hold of him when he needed work done.”

Vasquez shrugs, unconcerned, and feels an urge to laugh when Jack pokes his head over the fence at these words and nuzzles at his shoulder. “You just need to get used to him,” he says, palming the horse’s nose. “He is not so bad as all that.”

“He tried to take a chunk out of me just for bringing him out here,” Andrew replies. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t take you at your word.”

Vasquez makes a face, not really caring what Andrew does or doesn’t do. “No skin off my back, cabron,” he says easily.

Andrew scowls, no doubt having recognized the last word as some kind of insult, but to Vasquez’s surprise, he doesn’t push. Instead, he squares his shoulders and watches him levelly. “You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you? You and the rest of those folks?”

Vasquez blinks, momentarily taken aback. “We watch him, and he watches us,” he says finally. “Most importantly, we all watch each other.”

“Right,” Andrew agrees, giving a brittle smile. “Because you’re a family.”

“Maybe not the most traditional kind, but sí, yes.” Vasquez tells him. “In every sense that matters.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Andrew says, and then he shocks Vasquez by straightening to his full height and offering up his hand to shake. “Thanks for doing what we couldn’t.”

It’s on the tip of Vasquez’s tongue to tell him they could have, that if he and Daniel had put a little more effort in, had thought harder, had planned better, they could have prevented the final outcome. The words are right there, and he’s fully capable of putting them out in the open.

Except. Joshua wouldn’t like it. For whatever reason, he remains loyal to his brothers, and while Vasquez may not care about hurting them, he’s long since made it a point to be careful where the man who means so much to him is concerned.

“I only do exactly what he’d do for me,” he says taking Andrew’s hand. They don’t shake long, but nor do they try to crush each other’s fingers, so he’s going to consider it a win. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything to this, but his smile becomes a little more real.

*****

“You could have stayed, you know,” he says as they ride up the street towards the designated meeting spot. “No one would have held it against you if you had.”

There’s a quiet snort from beside him, and when he looks over it’s to find Joshua smirking. “You’d have shot me if I tried, and called me seven different kinds of stupid while you did it.”

“Well, yes,” Vasquez agrees, “but I wouldn’t have put the bullet anywhere lethal, just somewhere to get my point across.”

“You’re too kind,” Joshua drawls, but then his expression sobers. “Nah, darlin’, I don’t belong here any more than the two of them belong on the open road. Maybe I’ll write ‘em, or even swing by for a visit someday, but that’s it. The rest of you lot are stuck with me now.”

There are people wandering about the streets at this point, so Vasquez can’t lean over and kiss him like he wants, he can flash him his brightest smile though, which is exactly what he does. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, guerito.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly ficlet set in the same verse as Nine Lives that’s stalled out on me. I may go back to this one at some point.

Red comes home one evening in early December to find shredded bits of ribbon strewn over the floor and Blue sitting in the middle of the largest pile, an expression on her face that suggests she’s maybe ten seconds away from committing homicide. He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting down a sudden urge to curse as a very familiar headache springs to life at the base of his skull.

Great, he thinks sullenly, this shit again.

*****

The thing is, because Red is, well, Red, most people assume he dislikes Christmas because he’s a freak and an asshole and any other assortment of derogatory words that mean he hates happiness and joy. In actuality, however, Red is indifferent at worst to the holiday season, meaning he can take it or leave it without much stress.

Faraday at Christmas, though, now that Red hates without question.

Joshua Faraday goes one hundred percent certifiably insane during the Christmas holiday, and not in the mildly amusing way that Red has tolerated throughout roughly two decades of friendship. No. He gets festive.

“You’re saying that word like some people might say ‘raw sewage’,” Teddy points out. He’s helping Red clean up the scattered debris that are all that’s left of Faraday’s opening salvo in this annual dance of theirs, the one with only one willing participant. “There are worse things in life, you know.”

Probably, Red admits, but maybe not more annoying ones.

“You’ll see,” he says in lieu of explaining just what exactly they’re in for. He hopes the words seem as ominous as he means them to be.

They must not because all they do is make Teddy roll his eyes in that fond way of his, the one that suggests Red is being ridiculous but he’s willing to humour him. “I don’t remember him being too crazy this time last year.”

Red snorts. “Vasquez.” He says simply. “Had him distracted with their new thing.”

“Ah,” Teddy says knowingly. “And now the shine’s worn off?”

“Mhm.” Red agrees, pleased he gets it. Worn off and left Faraday back on his bullshit.

“Well,” Teddy says then, tossing the last of the blue and white ribbon, the pieces bedecked with tiny snowflakes, into the garbage can. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and this’ll be the last of his attempts.”

Hah, Red doesn’t quite say aloud. Hah-fucking-hah.

*****

It is not, as Red had predicted, the last of Faraday’s attempts to engage them in his stupidity. 

“No.” He says two mornings later when he steps outside to go for a run and finds Faraday industriously attaching an enormous wreath to his front door. 

Faraday grins at him through the centre of the pine branches, shaking the massive thing slightly to draw attention to the gaudy, burgundy bow dangling from the bottom. “C’mon,” he wheedles, not the tiniest bit repentant. “It’s for a good cause.”

Red cocks a single eyebrow at him.

“The clinic is doing a fundraiser,” Faraday hastens to explain. He’s been on the receiving end of that eyebrow enough to know he’s in for a world of hurt if he doesn’t do so quickly. “Half the proceeds go to them and half go to the local animal shelter.”

“So give them the money and forget about the wreath,” Red says. He’s willing to support a cause such as this, but there’s no reason his front porch has to suffer along with his wallet. 

Faraday, because he’s an asshole, ignores him. “It’s the principle of the thing,” he says, voice muffled as he somehow maneuvers his not inconsiderable bulk around to continue attaching the monstrosity to Red’s property. “Besides, I’m sure Teddy will appreciate it.”

Teddy will do nothing of the sort. 

Maybe. 

Hopefully. 

Ugh, goddamnit. 

Red watches sullenly as Faraday affixes the wreath where he wants it and then sucker punches the idiot as soon as he’s done.

“Worth it,” Faraday crows, wheezing only a little.

Red considers punching him again but goes for his run instead.

*****

Teddy smiles when he sees the wreath. Red feels both smug and annoyed by turns.

*****

“Oh that’s cute.” Warning bells go off in Red’s head as he shifts slightly to look over at Teddy. They’re both sprawled on the couch with their feet kicked up on the coffee table, but if he cranes his neck enough he can almost see the other man’s phone screen where he’s peering down at it.

“Faraday put a Christmas pic of the menagerie on Instagram,” Teddy says when he notices Red trying to see. “They seem to be taking to it better than Blue did.”

Hearing her name, Blue cocks an ear in their direction from where she’s curled up in her dog bed, but doesn’t otherwise dignify them with a response. Red envies her sometimes.

Sighing he glances at the phone when Teddy tilts it to give him a better view. Yep, there sit Jack, Danny, and Constantine, the latter glaring under the weight of a bright crimson bow the size of her head while the former two give big dopey dog grins for the camera, all posed in front of the fireplace that Red imagines is only lit to create the proper ambiance for the picture.

“Vasquez needs to reign him in,” Red grunts, despairing.

“I think it’s cute,” Teddy says again, smacking Red lightly in the shoulder when he snorts. “Don’t be rude.”

“Jack probably ate that bow as soon as the picture was taken,” Red replies. “He goes through about a dozen every year. Faraday’s lucky he’s dating a vet now.”

“I think they both feel pretty lucky to be dating each other,” Teddy says, laughing when Red makes a disgusted face. “Hey, it works for them.”

He leans down to steal a kiss and Red lets him, but not before pointing out that he’s not putting a bow on Blue.

“Please,” Teddy says, glancing over at where Blue is once again ignoring them. “I saw what happened the last time and I’ve always been quick on the uptake.”

That’s good, Red decides. Pity he can’t say the same for Faraday.

*****

“Vas’s Mom had to have an operation.”

Red blinks, not entirely sure how to respond to this opening line of communication. “Most people usually say hello first,” he grunts down at his phone, and then, because he’s not a total asshole, “She okay?”

“Firstly,” Faraday replies, “you hardly ever say hello on the phone. Or period for that matter. Secondly, yeah, she’s fine, except it’s throwing a wrench in their usual Christmas plans. She had surgery for bad carpel tunnel and now she can’t do the cooking and stuff.”

“They don’t have anyone who can help out?” Red doesn’t always pay close attention when Faraday starts rambling over Vasquez, but he’s pretty sure he remembers being told the guy has a pack of younger sisters back home. Like, a small army’s worth. Not to mention he’s presumably got a father somewhere in the mix too.

“Oh yeah, they do,” Faraday says, his tone such that Red can practically see him shrugging through the phone, “but his dad is worried she won’t take it easy if they do Christmas in their own home like usual.”

Red has a sudden premonition about where this is going and he doesn’t like it one bit. “Josh ...” he starts, but it’s too late.

“Vas and I offered to have everyone come here,” Faraday says in a rush. “It’ll be a little crowded, but with the house instead of an apartment we figure we can make it work.”

Please, between Vasquez, Faraday, and the strays Faraday keeps insisting on bringing home their place is already full at the best of times. Fitting nine people in it, plus the animals is going to be a nightmare.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asks, even though he knows, oh he knows. Attendance at an annual Christmas dinner is the only thing Red ever consistently caves on when Faraday gets all up in arms during the holidays, and no doubt he doesn’t see why the addition of a bunch of strangers should change that.

True to form Faraday doesn’t even give him the courtesy of living in denial for a little while longer. “You’re coming to dinner,” he says flatly. “Don’t make me bring up the blood pact to convince you.”

“You just did,” Red snipes, still unable to believe that Faraday thinks their teenage stupidity holds any weight after two decades. “I’m not coming. I’m busy.”

“Funny,” Faraday says, his tone turning thoughtful in a way Red immediately distrusts. “That’s not what Teddy said when Vas mentioned it to him.”

Red glares, not caring that the subject of his ire isn’t here to see it. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Faraday replies. “Bring a salad or something so Vas’s mom doesn’t think you’re a total ingrate.”

“Fuck that,” Red says and he can hear Faraday laughing when he hangs up on him.

*****

Red’s been in Faraday’s house for all of three minutes when he finds himself cornered by a teenager. 

Actually. He blinks and suddenly it’s two teenagers with the exact same face, distinguishable only by the fact that one of them has a streak of purple threaded through her dark hair. 

Jesus Christ, no one warned him about this. 

“You’re Josh’s friend, right?” Says the twin on the left. She’s twisting a lock of hair around her pointer finger, probably thinking it makes her look coy, and Red is abruptly extra annoyed that Teddy has abandoned him to go fuss over Faraday’s dumb dogs. “Pretty sure I’ve seen you in a couple of his pics on Instagram.”

Not for the first time Red curses Faraday and his addiction to that stupid app. At least Teddy asks before putting pictures of him up on his account.


End file.
